I see a man in the mirror,
Each day he becomes clearer,
And when my mind drifts far,
He takes the wheel and steers,
So it appears,
He's opposite of me,
Because what I see,
I choose not to believe,
This man in the mirror,
Is not a man at all,
His shape and size are not exactly what you'd call,
Beautiful,
Or masculine,
Or anything in between,
I'm not trying to be mean,
I'm just saying what I've seen.
We'd all like to think,
We're prettier than we are,
Because we go so far,
Just to be a star,
And this man in front of me,
He's always judging me,
I don't know why,
I want him to leave,
He glares and cries and pinches his sides,
He knows he's not perfect outside,
Inside too,
He isn't pretty,
And while it seems fitting,
He doesn't do his own bidding,
He acts like a leech,
Others help him carry on,
He can't help himself or it would all turn out wrong,
He likes being alone,
But he only appears,
When I'm standing near,
This reflective mirror,
But isn't it just glass?
Isn't it just a surface?
Why do we use this to judge?
What is the purpose?
This man in my mirror,
He moves just like me,
Watches as he bleeds,
Cries himself to sleep,
This man is unhappy,
Because he's not who he seems,
This man will always be,
The same man as me.