Mirror On The Wall

In the confinement of my neatly cluttered room,
I sometimes stand naked in front of a patch on my door where a mirror could sit,
but doesn’t.
And I imagine my body to be something new.
Not necessarily skinny and all bones, or even muscular.
Just new.
Something that isn’t filled with late night liquor bottles,
with tits the size of Rhode Island, and a stomach that is hidden beneath more stomach.
I keep hearing the word, “Change” via voices of loved ones, on History channels, and on the radio I claim I don’t listen to.
 I have to, I need to, I have to want to,
But what most people don’t understand is, it’s not about my body,
It’s not about the act of being naked.
It stands for my vulnerability.
Behind that door is everything I’ve ever felt, everyone I’ve ever know, strangers, my future and my past,
my mother’s warm heart, and my father’s stern words.
Behind that door is everything I’ve ever been afraid of.
Ever person I’ve kissed, every person I’ve cried about, every hour I’ve been a work, and every city I’ve ever visited.
It’s behind one f*****g door.
And I stand naked, because sometimes I need a connection with my thoughts and the reality of today.
I scream at myself because I know I need to change.
But the person that I am, always puts her clothes back on and climbs back into bed crying,
instead of walking out of the door knowing she’s naked.