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Poems and Stories

Mirror on the Wall

It is much less painful to get sand in my eye than to get an eyeful of me in you who is made of sand

Oh accursed mirror, you hang on the wall seeing only my all and all

But you lie to me

You keep any and all beauty hidden from me

For every fault you make me see in me only makes you flourish

For me to see beauty in you would only make me feel beautiful and give me confidence

But what good are you mirror, if my self-esteem isn’t shattered?

Mirror, oh mirror you feed off of my insecurities, either I’m broken or you will be

The more insecure I am, the more I cry, the more I starve myself to please you, the weaker I grow; the stronger you grow

But answer me this: If you need me to be insecure for you to be strong, how insecure are you, oh Magic Mirror?

 By Alexys

There’s monster in my mirror

Screaming, crying, sighing

Trying to break free.

There’s a monster in my mirror

Eyes red as blood

She is so pale like it’s never seen the sun.

There’s a monster in my mirror,

Stomach bulging, ribs protruding

It’s all that I can see

There’s a monster in my mirror

And that monster is me.

I’m the monster in my mirror

No one can save me from myself

That job is up to me

Cuz I’m the only one who sees me as the monster that can be.

But I don’t have to be that monster, that monster that I see.

That monster, that monster

It is truly not me!

by Alexys

 

 Defining Myself

         There are many things in this world that try to define me. Family members, friends, grades, and activities are all things that try to tell me who I am, or who I should be. The media is one thing that tells me how I should act, what I should wear and how I should look. The media has a fiendish accomplice, the mirror. The mirror confirms what the media is telling me. It confirms that I am not pretty enough, skinny enough or good enough. It tells me that I need to change no matter what it takes, because who I am and what I look like is not enough. Who knows if I will ever be enough? But dare I let something tell me who I am?

         Everyday I struggle as I walk past my reflection. Thoughts race through my mind like bullets aimed at my confidence and self-esteem. The mirror knows this as it glares at me and shows me exactly where that meal I ate last night went. It didn’t matter that my stomach was still growling for more. It lets me know that the model who elegantly graces the cover of that magazine never looked anything like me. She has a perfect body, perfect hair, and a perfect smile. She has everything that I don’t.  She is everything that I could never be. “You are worthless,” the mirror’s thoughts about me were made painfully clear.

         My relationship with the mirror would still continue. I would endure the abuse from the mirror day after day. If I didn’t who would I be? It told be what to do. It told me I should run away from my problems. As in run miles and miles every day until my body would fail me. It told me that if I didn’t have enough energy to run, then I didn’t have enough energy to eat. “The less there is of you, the less there will be to hate,” remarked the mirror.

         It made me feel better when I showed the mirror that the numbers on the scale were dropping one by one. But the mirror did not think it to be impressive. The mirror didn’t think anything I did was at all impressive. But the judge of me would give an approving smirk when I would do things specifically to please it. The more I starved myself, the more fat vanishing chemicals I put in my body, and the more times my stomach refused my lunch made the mirror look at me in approval. “It will be worth it when you are finally pretty,” the mirror promised me, even though I knew it was still a far ways to go.

         I completely allowed the mirror to define me. Whatever it said about me was the truth, even if all it told me were lies. The mirror redefined reality for me. The doctors said that 120 pounds was a healthy weight for me but the mirror had me convinced that my being 90 pounds was already overweight. The mirror assured me that being able to see all of your bones was a healthy thing. It meant I was getting closer to beautiful. My friends and coaches were concerned with the amount of weight I was losing, but the mirror told me, “They’re just jealous of how skinny you will be.”

         Lying on floor after collapsing from not eating anything sustainable in weeks I realize that the mirror has been lying to me all along. I look at myself, all 90 pounds of me, ribs protruding from my chest, and I can barely walk because I don’t have the energy. I have destroyed my body, lied to my family and friends, and have let a mirror define me. It had stolen all of my self-esteem and confidence. It was then I knew that the mirror had to meet its end.

         In the weeks following my revelation I wrote this letter to my mirror and laid it on its pile of shards:

“It is much less painful to get sand in my eye than to get an eyeful of me in you who is made of sand. Oh accursed mirror, you hang on the wall seeing only my all and all. But you lie to me. You keep any and all beauty hidden from me. For every fault you make me see in me only makes you flourish. For me to see beauty in you would only make me feel beautiful and give me confidence. But what good are you mirror, if my self-esteem isn’t shattered? Mirror, oh mirror you feed off of my insecurities, either I’m broken or you will be. The more insecure I am, the more I cry, the more I starve myself to please you, the weaker I grow; the stronger you grow. But answer me this: If you need me to be insecure for you to be strong, how insecure are you, oh Magic Mirror?” But now I am getting better, stronger, and more confident. You cannot stop me. Oh Magic Mirror, you use to define me. But now you are broken! Just like I used to be. You no longer define me. You cannot define me. You will not define me. I will not let this define me. Only I can define me!

By "A"