When I look in the mirror, I see a girl staring back at me.
Her hair golden and frizzy and unkempt, yet she didn’t mind.
She smiles at the reflection staring intently back at her.
Hello, she says.
Hello, I say back.
How are you? she says.
I’m fine. I snap.
Then I clip my mouth shut.
As she starts raising her hand, touching the mirror,
I feel mine doing the same, until
her long slender hand makes contact with mine.
That’s when I notice that her wrist
reflected the scars she didn’t know,
and cuts she’d never do,
and bruises she’d never bore.
I’m fine. I repeat. How about you?
Then she smiles the sweetest sickening smile I’ve ever seen
Good because of you.
I am not the girl in the mirror.
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In response to Daily Post Prompt: Mirror Mirror