Self-perception is a tricky
beast.
Smoke and mirrors. Distorted reality.
Others see what we cannot. We see things that they do not.
You gaze and search to try to
find some kind of truth in your own reflection.
You cannot see who you really are
as long as doubts cloud your vision.
The mirrors are murky, opaque and
muddy.
Your image swims over their
surfaces, scrutinizing you, as you gawk back.
Both sizing up the other.
The width of your thighs, the insignificant
swell of your breasts, the boney knees and faded yellow bruised skin.
You see them all. They veil the rest of what makes up you.
They
have become the truth.
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