Once Upon a Dream

A collection of short stories, poems, and ideas.

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8. The Mirror

 

          Looking in a mirror, I see a lost identity. Angry. Hurt. Alone. But not accepting pity. I see broad shoulders, muscular arms. All weighed down by stress. I see eyes, her eyes, and comforting hazel, ignited with shades of orange. So observant, yet unable to see the obvious truths in front of her. Sometimes seeing much more. I see hands, larger than her sister’s, but adept at handling a pencil, telling a story, drawing others’ identities from a blank page. I see monstrous feet, ones that have ran out in the snow, puddles, mud; running to escape. I see height, like many other things, growing. I see a girl hiding in the comfort of baggy clothing, letting it make her shapeless. I see short hair, loved and loathed from the moment it was separated from the majority, cut off with the snip of scissors; how frivolous it is, to hate your hair. I see ears, poking out from the chocolate wisps of locks, one showing the normal curve, the other showing a sharp point. Haha immortality. But jokes can’t hide what these ears have heard; the let downs, the disappointments, the insults. And I wish mirrors wouldn’t reflect my image. Because it is one I know I should change, the object of so much criticism, but why can’t I just be comfortable in my own shoes? Not the shoes of my sister, or my brothers, or my parents, but my own. My own. 

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