-----------------------------------------------------------

Dearest Mirror,

I wish I was slim.

I desire for my shoulders to be thin.

I guess I should ask you how you've been.

I can see your sparkling blue eyes deteriorating into a pale grey.

And the dried tear trails leading to your chin.

The scars on your thighs, battle scars from a war you couldn't win.

It's about time I asked you why you still grin.

Surely, with doubts like these, your lips should pucker in a pout.

Though you say it's not there, I can see the thread of tin that keeps your mouth closed shut like a caught trout.

You repeat the things they call you.

They told you you're a slut.

Try to trick you, they want you to give up.

The mirror asks about your skin, the blue hue it's has turned, the bruises that appeared, and why the red drips have stained the surface.

You've refused to tell the mirror the truthful purpose.

It scoffs at your lies as it has always seen the part of you that you try to keep inside.

The reason you dyed your hair as you cried, hoping your pride was yet to be determined.

The reason you are scared to step outside.

Why you vomited on your bed side with wide eyes.

You'd taken these pills before.

And slowly death came to the door, shaking his head at the pityful broken girl that fell before him.

She spoke to the mirror one last time.

"Dearest Mirror, why was I never good enough?"

And for a final time, the mirror replied without a single lie.

"I was always just glass, you were always more than that. I tried to show you your beauty, but you only ever saw what others had told you to be, so in the end, the mirror twas not me. You are the mirror, as you've always reflected what others said onto your body like a fur coat. And for that, I'm so very sorry."

And like mirrors do, the girl shattered.

That put an end to her rein as the saddened mad hatter.

~Ariah Chriatman
-----------------------------------------------------------