Reflection

19 Jan Reflection

Revisiting the mirror with a clearer view

Almost exactly twenty years ago, I wrote a poem about the struggle of self-judgment. It’s a play on the reflection of a mirror and how our inner voice talks to us about our perceived flaws. Often, that voice is shaped by our environment, looping in external feedback received through our closest relationships and/or societal standards. It can be grueling work to confront, dismantle, and transform that voice, and this poem touches on the discomfort of that experience.

This feels like the right first post for Behind One Verse, a series rooted in reflection and response. Below is the original poem, followed by what I would say to that person today.

The content below was originally paywalled.

Reflection | 06.22.2006

left alone in a small room with the one person I truly despise, 
I pace back and forth for a few minutes 
before patience runs low 
and I gotta go. 

door’s locked – 
I begin to break a sweat 
stuck in this small room 
staring at regret. 

there’s a window, 
but that’s sealed shut… 

I can’t stay here. 
I gotta break free. 
there’s only so much
I can take of misery.

I toss the only chair at the fake-me-out window-pane. 
broken wood falls to the floor. 
I feel faint. 
leaning against the stone wall, 
I fall; 
slide down to the floor. 
I’m really stuck in this small room 
with this fuckin’ whore.

well, what the hell is she staring at? 
oh, she thinks I’m fat? 
she disapproves of my clothes? 
she isn’t happy with the size of my nose? 
or, more importantly,
the size of my chest…

I’m stuck in a small room – 
no way out.
this slut thinks she knows 
all about me. 

I’m not fond of this bitch, 
Reflection, 
and I’m pretty sure 
she’s not fond of me

Included in my self-published e-book, Moths & Moonlight (2011).

Re: Reflection

You found the wooden chair, time-worn and damaged by neglect. 
You could have kept it as your own like those before you had, but you chose to shatter it instead.

Little fractures in the glass formed when you threw it at the window
held in place with metal muntins, and that allowed fresh air in, replacing the suffocating dread.

Stuck in that small, vaulted room filled with stale air slowly seeping out the cracks. 
It went unnoticed at first, but eventually cleared the space.

Forced to reconcile with Reflection, a version of you formed through the lens of the past, that you chose not to embrace.

Many never venture into that room, uncertain of what lies within 
and deterred by the sign above the door in the hallway that reads Needs Work.

Rising from the floor, and gathering a bit of strength, you confronted Reflection, 
changing her perspective, finding the key was self-worth.

Collection: Behind One Verse

Section: Poetry