I stared at myself in the bedroom mirror
And I did not like what I saw.
I saw a lump of clay that
Slipped off the potter’s wheel.
I saw a mouldy sheet of canvas
Untouched by the artist’s oils.

I looked into the looking glass
And I loathed what I saw.
The creature looked back at me
Snarled and barked.
I was petrified. I was looking into
Another dimension.

I looked into the bathroom mirror.
What I saw was unlike anything else.
I saw a pathetic, naked little creature
Clinging on to dear life.
I saw a boy hanging
On the face of a cliff. Screaming. Struggling
Hoping to not fall into the fiery
Pit of adulthood.

I peered into the lake
And saw my reflection.
The perfection of my features
Were rippling, tearing itself apart.
My reflection was warped, disintegrating.

These were the times
When a perfect reflection
Was a reflection of an
Imperfect being.

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