Reflection is a necessity,
and not always a joy.
A solution searching for a
Through the figure staring back at her.
I try to remind her,
Her Body is a finished product,
and not a Prototype
— to be used and moved and loved.
Not version Beta or Omega.
Each Dimple in her rump.
Every tear across her skin,
glistening like wet icing sugar
— sickly to her not sweet.
Silver Strings she is wrapped up in
strings she has pulled too tight,
Like reigns on her life.
Using them to guide her home.
When she’s clutched
for every straw
and instead reached for the tooth brush.
There’s a likeness to her reflection.
A glimmer or twinkle she has not lost.
There’s a likeness,
But she doesn’t want to be like this.