Every time I look at my reflection,
I can swear the mirror's lying.
Sometimes it is the glass bent,
making a funhouse of my smile,
Sometimes it is the way the mirror hangs,
tilted forward, so that when I look at it,
my reflection glowers down in disapproval.
On occasion the mirror is angled such,
that my reflection looks up to me.
I imagine this is how a child might see me,
formidable, strong and tall.
If only I could see myself with my child's eyes,
If only I could see at all.
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