Not a Pretty Mirror

This is my mirror.

It lives in my mind, in my moments, lives in my memories, and in my mistakes.

And I cannot escape from it.

My mirror chews on my mind, snacks on my mentality, swallows my morality, and devours my mother’s love for me.

My mirror likes my madness, my moral judgement, my making of mistakes, and my movement toward death.

My mirror is a monster, a money spender on products that make me “pretty,” a monkey that teases me every time I actually like what I see.

My mirror made my identity disappear, made me starve, cut, scratch, and scream.

It blinded me to see who I really was.

My mirror killed me.

And now, I don’t like what I see.