She stands in front of the mirror completely disgusted, looking at her putrid reflection. How could someone, something, be so ugly. She falls to her knees, her phone buzzing from across the room, her friends and family are worried. They haven’t seen her for days, she has completely concealed herself in her room, with not a sound, not a breath.
She stands up and walks into the bathroom, her face red and shamed because of how she sees herself. She turns on the hot water. It pours out of the shower head like hot acid, steam rising to form water droplets on the surfaces.
She steps in, a black tube of paint in hand, and in the other, all the guilt, and innocence she once had. She takes the paint, and on the side of the shower wall she draws herself. But it isn’t her. Instead, it is how she sees herself. When she is done she takes the paint and puts a black X on each part that she hates about herself.
Finished, she ungracefully sits down. As she sits, crying, she realises that there was not one place she did not mark. Frustrated she immediately stands up and she starts scrubbing the paint off. More soap, more scrubbing. More soap, more scrubbing. The floor of the shower is now black with the cleared away paint. She finally got it all off, but was it really all off?
As she steps out of the shower she looks into the mirror, still hating what the reflection showed her. When will she realise that the reflection isn’t HER? It is just what she thinks she looks like, in reality she is beautiful.
When will we realise that our reflections in the mirror don’t matter. Only the reflections we make of ourselves to ourselves and other people.
She, is me.
I have learned that a simple mirror is exactly what it is, a mirror.
izzy806
kaledo-art
blakekathryn
vaporwave
jacobvanloon
jbbartram-illu
dededos
2087
