They say a mirror reflects the image of oneself

but why do I see a monster and not a girl?

Is this how others see me?

A monster..?

I wish not to be this way,

but the demon inside me takes over everytime

and I can’t help it. It is not me my dear friends..

I’m trapped in my mind, it’s dark here and I see her,

the monster that ruined my image, made me ugly

I wish it would go away but she has me u...

I stare at the reflection of who I am now. Not the girl I used to be, who loved and cherished every moment of life.

Now I look at who I am, and I see a fragile person staring back. Someone who can't be the person I once was. Because this person has been through hell and back over the past three years. Ever since my father died.

I put my hand against the mirror, seeing myself reflect the motion...

In the quiet woods where shadows play,

A woman stands in disarray.

Her mirror reflects a demon’s face,

A trick of the light, a cruel embrace.

With eyes that haunt and lips that frown,

She thinks of herself as broken down.

But around her, the trees stand tall,

Whispering secrets, urging her to recall.

“Beneath this mask, you’re more than you see,

A heart full of wonder, wild, an...

Cursed devil horns holds the rope to hang the noose that’s around my neck, the noose I save for very particular points in time. I know I’m supposed to be this shy and loving woman who cares for not for herself, ever, but I’m brought to my knees in shame every time I see my reflection.

The woman stareing back at me is a narcissist void of emotion, sociopathic really, a devil in disguise. A woman o...

My hands are wet and cold, and still I can see **_her_**. The broken mirror falls around it’s own corroded base and I slide down the wall, reserving myself to sit with my head buried in my knees once again, but the mirror is still there, the top shattered off and the glass now uneven, but still I see **her** in front of me all the same.

The blood falls from my fingers and yet I see **her**, cradl...

When I look in the mirror, I see a girl,
Pale and young, in a fragile swirl.
Not at all what they say she should be,
But that’s the face that stares back at me.

An angel with horns her smile conceals,
She questions what's fake, what she truly feels.
She knows not her name, nor who she should be,
Only the thoughts she lets no one see.

Her diary hides what her lips won't say,
Secrets she buries an...

When I look in the mirror I don’t recognise the man staring back at me. In my mind’s eye I’m still a bright eyed young man, the mirror man is tired with bags under his eyes.

His greying hair is not akin to my luscious dark locks. The little wrinkles in his face do not belong on mine. The look of cynicism doesn’t reflect my optimism I feel inside.

He carries some extra kilos, whereas I have alwa...

I never feared mirrors—until the night it looked back.

It was an old thing, the kind you’d find in a grandmother’s attic. Ornate, heavy, and edged in dark wood with carvings of twisted vines. I found it at a secondhand store, hidden in a dusty corner. The owner sold it cheap, too eager to let it go. I should’ve known then.

The first few nights were normal. I’d glance at it while brushing my teet...

I can’t stop looking at my reflection, and I don’t want to.

I want to stare into this glorious crystal— I want it to share its reversed truths with me. I want it to tell me absolutely everything I’ve missed in the past eighteen years.

Oh, but _would_ that a mirror could remember.

But it doesn’t, and the images reflected on them are not trapped within their frame, and the sight is gone faste...

When Georgie O’Conner looks in the mirror he sees an ugly, ugly man.

He knows he is not ugly. Not by the lady’s standards, and certainly not be his father’s, unfortunate as that may be for him. But it doesn’t change the fact that when the blonde from Valentine ran a soft, buttery hand over the sloping bridge o fhis nose, all he cook imagine was the slight sting of her hand brushing over the rais...