my eyes criticize,
as i turn this way,
that way,
in front of the mirror.
did my jeans shrink?
no.
i just need to run more.
oh well.
at least my ass looks good
in these…
but those allwrong breasts -
no good.
i turn my back to the mirror
and gaze over my shoulder
coquettishly at my reflection
ha.
there is no talent for seduction in me -
laughable, really.
that conviction of there is no flaw in me,
of fearfully and wonderfully made,
of being the perfect one, the unique dove
of my king’s harem -
it is faded with the months of
kiss-bereft lips
and touch-starved shoulders
he was God to me
and now i stoop,
picking up shards of truth
from the dust of lies
and try to piece together
an autonomous, strong, and beautiful me.
i know i’m there somewhere
for beauty begets beauty
and i am begotten of God
his daughter, his beloved.
bring me your perfect mirror
that i may see what you see
