Be pretty…
Paint yourself
into the shape of his eyes.
Are you kidding?
Conjuring my mirror
into his vision to erase mine
is silvered hell I won’t enter.
Does the moon dress in fear
or kohl its face to appease
night devils who stalk light with evil?
I have lines on my face mapping
the journey of calendars I’ve traveled,
dark hours I’ve survived, bright days I’ve danced.
My face is my face.
It holds gifts of my mother and father, ancestors,
shapeshifting, joining the unique reflection I possess.
Bare or painted, smile or frown, it’s taken several wrong
exits
to finally reach the truth, the only voice in the mirror
that matters is mine.
©Susie Clevenger 2021
