I stare at her,
she stares right back.
I see her ugly smirk
a barren woman indeed,
is what I find within me.
She is what I fear,
that horrid girl in the mirror.
I stare at her,
she stares right back.

“Thanks to you,”
I say.
She licks the sarcasm
dripping from my lips.
Let her choke on it,
is what I pray.
“You know it’s true,”
she says and laughs in my face.
“You know of the weed,
and of its lethal seed,
and the fire won’t stop
once it’s lit.”

Oh, a barren woman indeed.
She is what I fear,
that horrid girl in the mirror.
I stare at her,
she stares right back.

I look at that monster,
the monster of me.
On my relationships, it feeds.
I see guilt and shame,
and anger’s its game.
The Thing is hollow,
but my happiness it swallows.
I am confused and being used.
I don’t know what
she wants and needs
or what is really me.
Oh, a barren woman indeed!

She is what I fear,
that horrid girl in the mirror.
I stare at her,
she stares right back.
False happiness is her lure,
but then she tells me what I lack.
It always amazes me,
that she is in the mirror,
she is what I fear,
but, I, her master, supposedly.
The wonder, it be,
that she is the Reflection,
not me.

She is only evidence of the “seem”,
what seems becoming of me,
yet I meet her every night,
in fitful, frightful dreams.
I turn on the light,
but in my throat, still a scream.
Oh, a barren woman indeed.

I am her puppet,
and she, my puppeteer,
that horrid girl in the mirror.
She is controlling me,
by only the slightest pull of the string,
telling me what to do, and who to be,
binding and blinding me,
to see what she sees.
Yet I’m her master, supposedly.
The wonder it be,
that she is the Reflection,
not me.

I stare at her,
she stares right back.
But these things occur,
and I step into her trap,
and up it snaps,
with all my joy inside,
trying desperately to hide,
from that girl in the mirror,
whom I’ve learned to fear.
She is my reflection,
mocking my imperfection,
and with gruesome perplextion,
I see:
A barren woman perhaps? or indeed?

It always amazes me,
that she is the one in the mirror,
but still, she is what I fear,
but, I, her master supposedly.
Her presence is so persuading and controlling
of which I may never be free.
And every time I reach high,
I end up stooping low,
and believing her constant lies.
The wonder, it be,
that she is the Reflection,
not me.