The girl in the mirror is not me,
Everything is wrong.
She is not perfection, like a ballerina should be.
I will cinch these ribbons tighter hoping to see a different reflection.
The mirror never lies.
I try to conquer her, but she always wins.
It gnaws away inside me, taunting with its power to reveal my flaws.
Slowly thinning from a world where I used to take the spotlight,
I dance in the dark, too afraid to turn on the glow,
Scared of what I will see.
As I breathe in,
She mocks me, as if I could count my ribs.
When will I be the one to win the role maybe,
When I’m perfect.
Eating will only destroy the perfection that I search for.
She laughs when I convince myself that I look “okay.”
I have control –
at least it stared out that way.