This World's Mirror This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

May 25, 2012
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I see girls with makeup wandering aimlessly, twirling their hair and smiling at the boys. I see boys with muscles and basketball shorts laughing at the pretty girls’ jokes and smiling at their compliments. I see my reflection in the mirror, the teal fleece jacket hanging on a size fourteen frame and a dress framing what I hope is a figure. I can imagine what people are thinking, but I really don’t want to. So I’ll walk through the crowded corridor with my head up tall, lying to the world about who I am. Let them think that I’m confident, let them think that I’m capable, let them think that I don’t cry myself to sleep.

I see couples holding hands, stopping for a kiss. I see busy teachers with arms full of paper trying to avoid the football players. I see my reflection in the distorted mirror of a glass entrance, a girl clutching desperately to her purse, trying not to let the tears escape from her eyes. I press my eyelids shut and try to forget about the soccer game and all those times I got hit in the face, all those times no one helped me up, all those times they just watched and laughed. I blink open my eyes and turn around to face the hall full of students, the water crystals hanging from my eyes gone. Let them think I am confident, let them think I am able, let them think I don’t cry after gym class each day.

I see pretty girls with pretty boys, smiling at me from perfect pictures on the wall. I see sizes XXS, XS, and S, missing o-so conveniently the L that I need. I see myself in the dressing room mirror in an outfit that is a size too small, even though I fit in that size last time I went shopping. I look ashamed and upset; the hatred in my eyes is no mistake. I peel of the clothes and put back on my skirt and heels, put back on my feeble attempt at pretty. I look at the reflection again and I see a girl who tries, but can’t succeed, who wants but cannot have. I scrunch up my face and close my eyes so I can’t see the echo of myself and walk back out into the busy, noisy drone of the mall. Let them think I’m confident, let them think I’m able, let them think I don’t hate myself.

I see bright red, green, blue, and white lights. I see a microphone a guitarist and a drummer from behind a curtain. But I don’t see myself in any kind of mirror that will distort my reflection, make me see the physical, make me see the image this world has made me see. Instead, I see myself as I really am. Black and pink, sky high heels, microphone in hand, strutting on to the stage. The audience screams and shouts, clapping and cheering for me. I pop my collar and they go wild. I feel like I’m on top of the world. I snap four times at the drummer and then I’m on fire. I sing like I’ve never sung before, putting my melody, my soul, into the guitar riff into the lyrics. I shake my hairsprayed hair and stomp around the stage, screaming the last note at the top of my lungs. The last three beats bring me peace, bring me life. Bam. I am confident. Bam. I am beautiful. Bam. I am me.





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Trees said...
Sept. 30, 2012 at 9:27 pm
This is really good!  Your writing is easy to read and flowing.  Great job!  Oh yea and we're both from Montana :D
 
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