​

I could not face myself, 

but had to face all others

What did they think of me?

I would rather not know,

Wipe clean the mirror, 

But filthy still the reflection remains.

 

Smooth is their skin in a trendy magazine

Worn and torn is mine in a tacky photo,

My friend time makes you fade,

but the damage is done,

The mental scars are just ghosts

Haunting the dark corners of my mind,

And the physical ones that you left behind

Serve as epitaphs etched on my face.

 

Still I struggle with these

Images of the reflected truth,

Even now you return to me, my greatest fear,

And will it take me yet another year,

To rid me of my misery?

 

When I look at myself, I squint my eyes,

Then I would look like the other guys,

But close up, the mirror never lies,

As the pore weeps, the eye cries.