All mirrors lie. We look them in the eye
and they look back and say that we’re no good.
Too old, too fat, too thin, too lame. We could
spend hours on self hate, but all mirrors lie.
The silver back to mirrors will betray
us if we let it. Every wise girl knows
the partial truth that any mirror shows.
We work around it and perhaps in play
we say oh well, perhaps my nose is big
but it has character. My waist is thick –
I’ll stroke my warm curved flesh. I’m sick
of being told I’m bitch, or whore, or pig
of feeling less than loved. I’ll kiss the glass
And feel my own hands warm upon my arse.