My reflection stares clear back at me
even when I’m not looking in a mirror.
All I have to do is close my eyes
to gaze into my eyes, to confront
the worse side of me
who may not be as bad as he appears.
Maybe I’m seeing myself
as I wish others would.
He seethes with anger
for accepting what is and not fighting
and not clawing
and not claiming
whatever I believe is mine to possess.
He despises me for making friends
with loneliness and despair,
for embracing sadness and fear
and each solitary tear
rather than seeking
to be okay.
He despises me for trapping him
on the other side of the glass.
I want to make friends, too,
with my reflection,
so he won’t have to be alone anymore.
But perhaps he wants to be.
Perhaps that is why he remains distant.
As I change, my reflection can’t change;
he needs to preserve himself.
He is a survivor, after all.