Ripples

My mirror isn’t a mirror.

It’s a lake.


Ideally, it’s still and pristine,

But that’s rare.


Instead,

There are days when it’s muddy.

There are days when the ripples completely deform my reflection.

On muddy days,

There is no reflection.

I'm lost in the murkiness.

I try to see me,

But all I can see is that to-do list floating across the surface.

Work.

Worry.


Clean.

Cry.

Pay the bills.


Fake a smile.

Cook.

Worry.

Clean.

Cry.

Fake a smile.

Go here, pick this up, go there, repeat.

Then, when I have a fleeting moment to myself,

And the muddy murkiness clears,

I think it's getting clearer…


Until…

I start throwing those stones.


Bad hair day.

Toss one in.


Ripple.

See those stretch marks?

Plop.


There goes another.

Is that a wrinkle on my forehead?

Splash,

Here we go again.

The ripples completely distort my reflection,

And I can’t remember what the clear image really looks like.

Then, he takes my hands from the pile of stones…

And I have to see me.

He won’t allow me to continue to throw them.


He won’t let me obstruct my reflection.


The mud and ripples settle, 


And I can see straight through.


The stones of my flaws lay beneath.


They are beautiful.

Each piece, that I thought tarnished me,

They are what add beauty and color to my reflection.