Jaded
It appears as though I’m not as ugly as I feel.
The idea shocks me, so I study my
reflection again.
No, there are no blemishes of bitterness,
no ugly patches of disappointment.
My pale cheeks display no scars of sadness
that often burn channels from
eyelashes to chin.
I see no grimace of misery or jealous glare,
No hint of desperation in my bright smile.
Is it possible for a mirror to lie?
My features are too smooth for me to be torn
by impatience or pain –
I look as though I relish every breath
of this torturous day and not at all
like I’m struggling to reach high ground
to escape the flood of my frustration.
