Cacophony Of The White Ravens

If my mirror could talk

"Mirror mirror on the wall...",

I whispered as I woke,

"Mirror mirror on the wall...",

I whispered as I slept.

Everyday, every night,

I woke to the view of my reflection.

A competitor to Narcissus's fixation.

I trusted it

with my worst fears

and worser secrets.

I put my faith in it,

for its lips were sealed.

It showed me my true self.

The acne, the pale and chapped lips.

And my skin!

Dry as a paper,

calling out to me,

to itch it, to scrape it.

Making me feel

like a fish out of water.

As the days passed,

I noticed the mirror mocking me.

I changed the lights,

adorned the mirror, the shrine, with bulbs,

a pitiful attempt to appease it.

"Love the skin you're in".

The catchphrase bewitched me.

New bottles and tubes and false promises.

Hours spent away rubbing it in,

peeling it off,

till a rash came up.

I stopped, only to start again.

All in front of my cruel critic.

If my mirror could talk,

it would tell you,

how I popped my zits

from the light of the moon,

How I stuck a photo

of the perfect girl on it;

How it was finally taken off

from the nail of my wall.

Days after its departure,

I walked to the wall,

to the lighter shade of wallpaper,

a spot once guarded by my reflection.

I took out my blood red lipstick,

and traced the mirror's shape in matte,

and in cursive script I wrote,

"You look fine",

the words so foreign to my walls,

but welcomed nonetheless.

When you come across my mirror,

because you will once in your life,

I warn you to close your eyes,

because it will lure you in, asking you,

"Don't you want to know

if you're the fairest of them all?"

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 "Every second that you spend on doubting your worth, every moment that you use to criticize yourself; is a second of your life wasted, is a moment of your life thrown away. It's not like you have forever, so don't waste any of your seconds, don't throw even one of your moments away."

― C. JoyBell C.

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Dear readers,

This poem features a person suffering from BDD( Body Dismorphic Disorder).
It is futile to hold onto something so transient like physical beauty.

Your physical features do not define who you are and anyone who does not take enough time to know you is not worth your time.

I always love to hear your thoughts and feedbacks!

Please vote, comment and add the poem to your reading list!

Don't forget to check out my other works!

Yours truly,

Ebonylarch

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