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