A Shattered Mirror
Even after all these years, the images are warped.
The mirrors of today still show reflections of my past.
The eyes of those who love me all refuse to see what’s real –
Their vision’s not enhanced by the memories I’ve amassed
From daily insults, missiles fired, that spin and ricochet.
No invisible bullet-proof vest protected me from pain
That dwindles still inside the narrow alcoves of my mind.
I look for maps to lead me through the broad tear-flooded plain
By a path, straight or curvaceous, where I’ll see what others do,
Beyond my mirror image draped with layers of old lace
That covers up the body I’m convinced will always be,
And reveal to me the truth that old wounds cannot erase.
This poem reflects (no pun intended – well, maybe it is!) an issue that I have struggled with for most of my life. Some days are better than others in my fight to overcome. I do not ask to see an unattainable ideal, but I do hope that some day I will see and accept the image that is there, and that is true. That will be enough. . .