That girl in the mirror.

They ask me

what my favourite place

in the entire world is;

where i am most comfortable in

where i am most myself

and they expect a far flung city

or a party club with night music

i tell them it’s a 4×8 room,

with two windows; one French

from where rays of sunshine

come in bits and pieces

and mix with my body hair

and blemishes that are looked upon

as ugly

they make me comfortable

for i have hated myself;

for far too long

i cursed myself

for i didn’t fit the beauty and brainy norms

set by the society

day after day,

i felt the real me slipping away

but this room

this 4×8 room

my wardrobe, my study desk, my book shelf, my bed, my sticky notes

make me feel like myself

make me feel like i belong

the talks i have with my walls

make me aware

that in my real deep conversations

lies my story and my strength

the thoughts of me producing a play

or acting in it

a short film or a stage performance

ripping my humour and talent open

makes me believe

that i am so much more than the girl in the mirror.


4 thoughts on “That girl in the mirror.

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