As I gaze into the mirror,
a stranger's face I see
curiously looking back,
this person I call me.
Two ears, a nose, a mouth,
with stubble on my chin,
and staring eyes now locked
in a contest I can not win.
I look away, unable
to meet his gaze no more,
his scrutiny intense,
unlike any felt before.
But averted eyes do not make
reflections disappear.
Turn away I can, but can not hide
from the stranger in the mirror.
And so I stand and stare
at this face I know so well,
which stares back at me
from inside my private little hell.
He knows just what I am thinking,
every emotion that I feel,
all the realities within my life
with which I can not deal.
Remorse, regret, emptiness,
sadness, shame and lust,
and all my other feelings
to this man, I trust.
He is not just an image,
but a reflection of my soul,
of how I've lived out my life,
and how I pay the toll.
How often a smile do I see?
Or laughter in those eye?
If ever, then they were just
expressions full of lies.
Enough! No more! Go away!
With this image I am done!
I must fight these feelings down
until the battle has been won.
Now every day's a struggle,
and I come in here to see.
To look for any improvements
in this man that I call me.
And when the battle's over,
when the healing has begun,
I'll stare into his face again,
with the knowledge that I've won.
When all my doubts are beaten,
and I've conquered every fear,
no longer will I have to stare
at a stranger in the mirror.
