Through the Looking-Glass

The Glass reflects upon who i

am. Thoughts and opinions cram

into my soul as i look up at the Cold

brown orbs that stare back at me in

Pain. Smile, stand up straight, this

is the most mechanical phrase. No one sees how Cold 

you deeply feel. All they discern is a girl in a Big house.

The glass moves along like a twin. This

Stanger declares itself with My name, in My house.

It mimics my actions yet disregards my emotions that i 

desire to show. It desires Perfection, something I am

Not. It offends with the undeniable truth that perfection is a 

tale told by the arrogant. A narrative in which society Forces a woman

to believe that she needs to be a Rose in order to be appreciated. The

Glass reflects upon who i am. A bitter sweet

Woman, not perfect, but a simple reflection cast upon society like clouds casted upon flowers.