Mirrors

I wish I was skinny, pretty, loved.

I wish

I wasn't me or anything like me

I wish I was her in her ripped skinny jeans,

Loving life in her yellow jacket looking cool, calm, collected.

I wish I was cool

but cool isn't something I will ever be because

My veins burn with rage when I see

Myself, when I see myself I want to rip

The skin from my bones, tear the fat from inside out.

The mirror is a demon, preying on my weak mind,

Telling me to stop, to take back control, to starve.

Sometimes I listen, sometimes I don't.

But I'll always, secretly, know that he's

Right.

Reviews

[Ms.Quoted]

I can relate to pain this piece represents. I hope the subject of this poem seeks a better way. My gut tells me whoever the subject is, deserves better than that. Nicely written.