My mistress stands before me in dismay
I show her not what she had hoped to see.
She combs her hair; it frizzes, flies away,
This is not how her life was meant to be.
She backs away, is looking from a distance,
Her clothes are far too snug, her face too plain.
She twists in different angles in resistance
To the image I deliver once again.
She prays to find the one that looks beyond
That girl with unco-operating hair
For she’s a thousand stories, lifetimes long,
If only he would find the time to spare,
To see what I, a mirror, cannot show,
A girl who makes you laugh when you are low.
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