When I was a kid I walked
past the denizens of the carnival.
A man with a dark patch over his left eye
leered behind arcade protectors. I
found myself alone, so far from voices of
familiarity and into a labyrinth of mirrors.

At first each breath was relieving and
allowed for the weight on my shoulders to
lessen. My sneakers squeaked on white linoleum
and all was well. Without grand entrance came
the absence of light in the room; I stumbled
forward and was surprised when the mirrors
illuminated.

I stared at myself through the effects of the
carnival lights and carnival mirrors and I heard
carnival noises coming from carnival people outside
this room at the carnival itself

If I stood tall my body was massive, but shrunken in
height. Slouching, my mirror image shot up like Jack's
beanstalk. I was hideous. A travesty to represent the
misguided thoughts society forces into the minds
of little girls. I put my hand to the mirror in awe staring
as my body twisted and threw shadows in ugly directions

When the lights came on I was still staring at my reflection
that had suddenly changed. I saw red curls and blue eyes that
matched a normal little girl's body. A laugh erupted next
to me and a boy bigger than me chased a girl smaller than me through
the room behind me. They were normal too. Too. Me too.
I was normal. I was average.