Perspective from the mirror

The door opens. I can hear the light pattering of ballet shoes across the marble floor. I feel tiny hands holding the edge of my dresser, pulling the human up to peer into me. I am the holder of dreams and perceptions. I am the subject of tears and death, I have the power to change the way you see yourself through my glimmering appearance. Many have gazed in me, leaving either happy with what they saw, or disgusted. But to vouch for myself, I do nothing but expose the truth. I physically change nothing; its you who changes. You are who you are, and I am just a way for you to see it visually. Everyone has his or her own story, like the little girl at my feet now, worried about how her bun looks like. No one can hear me, but if they could, they’d hear me softly laughing every time someone approaches me, only to confirm their appearance. I laugh because they are the blind ones, the ones that my power can do nothing for. These people are hopeless, they’ve succumbed to their pride and it’s too late to change now. Their purpose in their life is to “benefit the world with their beauty.” But they don’t know what it’s like to feel blue, to wake up everyday wishing it were their last. They’ve never experienced pain, never known what life really means. Never seen atrocities and sacrifices people make to have a better life, to feel the rejection from society only because of weight or looks. One of my best abilities is being able to see into your true personality, to see the real you, but seldom do you ever see what I see. I can tell when an honest man lies, I can tell when rich man weeps inside, I especially can see hatred within. I’ve witnessed many spectacles since the time of my construction. In every room I’m placed, I can see the productions of society; liars, cheaters, misers, workers, hobos, rich men, singers, dancers, writers, the list goes on. Of these people I’ve seen plenty. What is truly a rarity is the honest man, the man who genuinely seeks knowledge and hopes to improve life by promoting good judgment. Ah yes, this man is very rare. The philosophy of everyone seems to be blood for blood, an eye for an eye, death and annihilation. No more love. I have no choice but to stand here and gaze at it all. If I had a choice, I would shatter myself and end the misery I’m forced to observe every day. Constantly I ask, when will the world change?