Stories of Poetry and Vice Versa

Mirror.

I stare at the empty face
Peering back at me in my cold mirror.
Who is this expressionless,
Acne-faced,
Weird haired,
Wrinkly face
Standing where my reflection should be
This wasn't me.
I force a smile
My face cracks
As I pull my lips apart
To reveal stained teeth.
This wasn't me.
But it is now
I suppose.
And I hear her come in
And compliment everything I was looking at
We couldn't have been seeing the same thing.
And she says my name
To solidify that it was me.
I turn back to the mirror to see my features spring to life.
Thank you.