My mirror is a liar

Or maybe, it’s the face staring back at me, a travesty, an ill told lie
A distortion of the truth my mirror makes me appear
But I know that it is not how I truly am perceived, although that’s not much of a relief
For if I don’t know how I truly am, I’ll obsess and compare, just so that I can look like every other page in the book

My mirror is a tormentor

It exploits my insecurities and leaves me in tears, causes so much hate, so much fear
Consigns me to hellish fire of my own mind based completely on my own definition of looking “fine”
Washes me with a stream of self doubt and depreciation, a daily shower of pain and hatred
The struggle is diurnal and with no cease, everyday my self image plunges, and with it, another piece of me

My mirror is a pessimist

It cause me to push others away in fear that they will one day give up on me
Hours spent fixing my face, staring at my reflection, it tells me that no matter what I do, I will face rejection
All my calories counted and burned, but apparently the appearance I want has yet to be earned
I’m apathetic, drowning in tears that are not allowed to flow, suffocating in silence, but I let not one flaw show

My mirror is a manipulator

Forcing me to stay inside, to protect myself from the pretty people who traverse without care, those who are full of pride
I’m told I look fine or okay, guess that’s easy for you to say when you’re already perfect
Maybe if I were 20 pounds lighter I’d be happy, I say, but even when that goal is met, my self esteem is still the same
I’m never satisfied with how I appear, I am a stain, a blemish, just wishing I could say goodbye, and disappear

My mirror is no bad thing, but rather my brain. Body dysmorphia is a demon, the monster I fight everyday, yet cannot escape