Sunday, May 1, 2016

The Mirror

I look into the mirror.

I’m convinced my mirror lies. I think it has it out for me: it certainly is a unique creation, that mirror. I look half decent today, standing there in my jeans and t-shirt, hair down and smirk on my face. I look okay.

My mirror tells me I look okay.

But it lies, that mirror. The pictures I take are shameful and gross. My hair is everywhere, and my outfit is messy, wrinkled and strange. The reflections in hallway windows and on phone screens all tell me the same as those photos, and concrete my insecurities: I’m ugly. I’m awkward. I’m unfashionable.

My mirror tells me I look okay.

I don’t try too hard, so I can’t complain too much. I don’t cake on makeup, and I don’t buy expensive outfits. I care more about my perfect GPA than I ever will about whether or not my clothing matches. Priorities priorities priorities. But I still want to feel beautiful.

My mirror tells me I look okay.

I am not fat: not by any stretch of the imagination. Before you hate me for that, realize that just because I have a good body, doesn’t mean I’m confident. Perfection perfection perfection. My stomach may be flat and toned, but my chest could be larger. My legs may be proportional but maybe I don’t always want to have those massive muscles. My shoulders are defined but also quite broad. I’m fit and athletic, in shape. I'm strong. But maybe I want to feel petite and delicate as well, feel feminine. Choices and choices, mark what you hate and accent what you love.

My mirror tells me I look okay.

People call me beautiful. I mean, I suppose it’s their right, to call someone beautiful. Yet I can’t say that I’ll ever see it. My face isn’t nearly crystal clear. My skin is bruised and certainly not perfect. And as much as they tell me that I'm beautiful, in the end, it all doesn't matter. Compliments are compliments, but when all is said and done, I need to believe in myself. If I don't believe I'm beautiful, then I shall never believe the compliments.

My mirror tells me I look okay.

I want to feel beautiful. I want to feel perfect. My mirror may lie but I want to believe it. My skin may not be flawless, but whose is? My body may have things that I am not fond of, but it’s MY body. And my mind is sharp and quick, so why shouldn’t I love myself? Why should I believe myself not worthy of love, why should I hate my pictures and search for constant, endless validation? Why should I avoid windows and reflections? I shouldn’t.

I want to feel beautiful.

My mirror tells me I look okay. It may lie, but for just once, I would like to believe it.

I want to feel beautiful.
Let me feel beautiful.

I look into the mirror.

I'm convinced my mirror lies. I think it has it out for me: it certainly is a unique creation, that mirror. But so am I, and I am beautiful. So maybe it doesn't lie, maybe it just sees me the way the world does. Regardless, it doesn't matter. My mirror makes me feel beautiful. So I ignore the reflections in windows and on screens, and all the bad photos.

I am beautiful. Let me be beautiful.

Music_paige

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