Reflectance

In the mirror's reflection, a war begins within,

My eyes see distortions, a constant dim.

The person mirrored back, a stranger to me,

Distorted by the lens of body dysmorphia, you see.

The camera lens captures moments in time,

Yet not the same as the mirror's cruel mime.

It's not the truth; a shapeless glance,

Body dysmorphia's deceitful dance.

I starve myself thin, a twisted pursuit,

To quiet the voices, to calm the dispute.

It makes me sick, this search for thin,

It hushes the chaos that brews deep within.

Through a lens, a camera's candid sight,

A different picture, a glimmer of light.

It captures moments, a truer embrace,

Unfiltered, void of the mirror's cruel face

It's not the mirror or lens that's to blame,

But a mind trapped in a haunting game.

Body dysmorphia, the relentless foe,

It paints illusions, a cruel tableau.

The quest for perfection, an elusive chase,

A standard set by society's embrace.

It makes us judge, compare, and tear apart,

A cruel symphony, a conflicting art.

It's a rigorous cycle, a war with no end,

A struggle, a battle, a plea to mend.

To see what's real, beyond the mask,

To accept my body, to soften dysmorphia's demand.

I long to see beyond its twisted snare,

Embrace the truth, and show myself care.

For in its grasp, I've lost who I am,

Hope lingers, a flicker... damn.