who is that?
that girl, staring at me;
staring into me
who could she be?
she, I do not recognize
though, I think I once did
when? maybe...before
who is that girl?
her features so sharp,
her eyes so tired;
as if she has seen a lifetime of details
in a youthful face, such wisdom shows
she's about my age, I would guess
though her eyes beg to differ;
tired, so tired, they speak words that
no ears could hear, would hear
and no simple mind could understand
who is this girl?
the smile tragically lost on her face
even expressionless, sadness dominates her features
she is not afraid. Strong and sure, she does not look away
who is she...?
Wait, I'm sure now
I have seen this girl before
a messy collage of memories, plastered on her face,
trauma and strength regained...
Oh no.
Oh no, not this
please, not this
her face, as I understand, twists into a look of anguish
I know who this girl is
I see now.
Stupid! I should have seen before!
So depressing, so upsetting
I turn away in shame, and the girl disappears.
I hate mirrors.