The mirror is inconstant

Fickle

Ballooning this part or that until I am satisfied

Unsatisfied

With the lines of me

Today the curve of my belly

Fills me with loathing

Tomorrow the swell of a hip

Makes me feel powerful

I stare in it, this silvered glass

That holds so much power

That it can make me a beauty, a hag

A turmoil of emotions

But it is not the mirror that changes

Nor the reflection—

Or only incrementally,

Not the great sweeping variations

That I imagine—

No, the mirror reflects not my body

But my own insecurity

My self-worth with its unpredictable

Fluctuations, its fragility

And I understand it is not the mirror

That needs to change, it is me