© 2017 Kay Iscah

I'm not sure this is final version of this poem. But the idea has been in my head for a while, and this is what poured out the other day.


Mirrors Lie

Mirrors are liars.
That would be okay
For I can deal with liars,
But they're inconsistent liars
And that I cannot bear.

It's not a trick of the light
Nor the time of day
Nor the outfit I wear
Nor the tilt of my head
But the perverse spirit of the reflector.

In one glance, I am pretty.
In the next, I am plain.
A soft beauty,
Then forgettable,
Repulsive even.

These are not my feelings
Reflected, staring back.
For when I am sick,
Feeling wretched,
My reflection is most fair.

But when I feel pretty
Hoping to see the same
My mirror humbles me.
But when is it lying?
When? Which is the lie?

When my skin is even?
When my features well placed?
Is it the other?
The ugly truth?

Am I both?
A chameleon
Changing at whim?
A reptilian skin?
I don't think it's me.

It's the mirrors.
They're liars, all of them.
But how can I spot the lie,
How can I know myself,
If I can't trust my reflection?