Poems about mirror

Ive mastered the art of hiding my body from myself
Not seeing myself naked even in the shower
Only seeing my face in the mirror
And washing myself with a cold, impersonal, clinical touch.
Being surprised new chest hair grows back
After I last plucked it from between my boobs
Because I haven't looked down in so long.
I learned a long time ago by body wasn't for me
But was a flesh coffin for my soul to lie in
For this pretty boy to die in
And pretty down so the outside world would stop calling me she
And being he hasn't been cheap.
Im in the process, now, of learning that it's never enough
No matter what you give to cis-ciety
To abide by their standards
You will still be catcalled
Still asked on the first date about your surgery
Still referred to as Miss with your sideburns and mustache and low octive voice.
Theyre so hungry
Their nonsense says feed me
Stop wearing make up
Dress uncomfortably
Try harder
Just to please me
But they will always find a reason to kick you out of the men's restroom.
And even if they dont
Even if they smile and call you sir
Even if they ask your dick size on the first date instead of what's between your legs
Even if they ignore you on the street because youre wearing pants instead of skirt.
You wonder what they would have said to you 12 months ago
When estrogen had softened your jawline
When mac tinted your lips
And you could still hit the high notes in that song on the radio.
Would they have called you sir then?
Do you feel any more safe
Washing your hands in the men's room
Waiting to be caught?

It's not about how you looks in the mirror, but it's about how you see yourself in the mirror.

Hello eyes,
I am wondering what it is
About you that invites
That 40-something-year-old
To make comments about how seductive you are.
(nothing).
Hello hair,
I am really a big fan
Of your new style, but must ask
If you got it so he would tell you
How sexy it looks when you spin your head.
(no, you did not).
Hello lips,
I am interested to know
If the color you are wearing
Was applied with intention for him
To tell you where he'd like to see it.
(no, it was not).
Hello body,
I know you are so tired,
And you are here to work but I wonder,
If you are also here so that he can
Graze his hands across you uninvited.
(no, you are not).

Reflections of the heartbreak kind
The memories left behind, left in lines
Memories of laughter, the lows and the throes
The hi's and goodbye's, the sights and the fights.

My reflection stares back at me, a mirror of my life
My heart that has pound from the very start
With fear and longing, from jumping and running
From anger and distain, passion and pain.

My hands stroke crow's feet seated around my eyes
The door to my hidden secret soul, like a hole through me
Reminding me of who I wanted to be
What I have seen, done and who I have been.

Memories flash in my ever seeing eyes
Things I have tried, the people that have lied
The friends that were there and the problems I have bared
It reminds me never to be scared
In this mirror of my life...

Remember when I was afraid of you?
The idea, the very notion of you terrified me.
Evertime I entered our old bathroom I cowered,
Hiding deeper into the bagy filth that hid my curves.
The very idea of you made me turn away, curl my fingers, legs tighter together.
I never looked at you.
I pretended you weren't there,
That I couldn't see you.
That I couldn't see me.
I hid my face in my hands,
I cried,
I cried so many times, staring at you.

But now, things have changed.
I can stand before you unprotected,
Shaky,
Pale,
Soft,
But I'm not scared.
Because all there is to see is me.

LEAVE HATRED OUTSIDE MY DOOR
WHEN YOU COME IN*

This Notice boarded on my door
Seems to have done little to impress.

The ones that come in
Still read from the hate book.

Speak ill of others behind their back
Curse those they don't agree with
Spew vitriol against all not their own
Criticize food habits and dresses
Castigate the new generation
Find fault with the old
Generalize on the basis of race religion
Trifle faith belief sentiment
Envy for what they don't have
Intensely dislike assumed disabilities
Even a squint a stammer a mole a limp

More passionate in degrading than appreciating
Systems, processes, relations, actions, attitudes.

People won't mend, behind them i think,

They're so damned disgusting.

Paint me a song
Make it soft, and sweet
Passion, not short, but long
Thus making me, complete

Craft me a statue
Love in bronze or clay
I'll gaze at it, long and hard
Each and every day

Align for me your words
A poem from your heart
Reminding me, eternally
You, my only art

What if one day,
We met a version of ourselves
Crossing the street.
However that version is
How someone else sees us,
And not how we see ourselves.
Not unlike a mirror image,
Yet different in so many ways.
We wouldn't be able
To recognize ourselves,
Because we see ourselves
In a different light.
We see ourselves in the cold,
White light,
Standing in front
Of the bathroom mirror,
Analyzing.
Criticizing.
They see us in the warm sunshine
When our eyes are crinkled
From laughing,
When our hair is blowing
In the breeze.
We see ourselves in numbers.
Grades,
Weights,
Calories,
They see us in feelings.
Happiness,
Passion,
Love.
Maybe if we saw
Our almost-mirror self
Cross the street,
We would see ourselves
Differently as well.
We would see
A kinder,
More beautiful,
Thinner us.
But in reality,
We'd be the same.
Because mirrors lie to us,
But perspectives do not.