Words Of a Feather

The mirror could mean a million things, but none as compelling as I

The mirror is a clear, delicate, and all-seeing as myself

Since I came from the dust of the body

I was formed into a graceful image that many admired

I was a quicker learner than the rest

Someone who effortlessly succeeded in all areas

“Naturally gifted” they called it

A woman a thousand steps further than the rest

As and 100s became closer to me than my friends

Closer to me than my peers

Some were near the level I was on, but they could never climb the pillar of wonder

Astonishment

Glory

And neither could the mirror on my wall telling me I’m the fairest

Reminding me of what I yearn to always be

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The people became stronger

Those around me climbed onto my ladder of worth

It felt as though they shoved me down

I was still in a select few, but within that select few

I wasn’t in a more exclusive group

The As and 100s hung out with other people

Teaching them how to usurp me

How to shatter me

There became less praise

Less accolades

Less of me, more of them

While I could get a good score, could I someday cure cancer?

Could I someday go to Harvard?

Could I someday fix my mirror?

Why wasn’t it me?

Why couldn’t it be me?

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The mirror continued to crack as I lost myself

Who I was dulled down like the pencils I used on the tests

No longer visited by 100, instead, spending time with the 90s

I did a “good” job but not a great job

I did a “great” job but not an amazing job

I did an “amazing” job but not a spectacular job

I did a “spectacular” job but not a perfect job

And when it was finally perfect, something was still cracked

Words on pages on books about words with meaning

Didn’t have a meaning

Or did it? I couldn’t tell

Or could I?

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Was it enough?

Could it be enough?

Maybe it was, and sometimes, the mirror appears to be refined

Covered in soot, it was old and pristine

To the others, it dazzled with glitter

It was an ideal mirror to reflect on oneself, for everyone besides me

And those who were better

The mirror would alternate its cracks in different places

Places that I could never reach until I didn’t mean to

While I still stretch to satisfy the glutton inside

I can never understand when perfection is truly flawless

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What happens then?

What happens when the shards of the mirror chip out and they come onto me?

Scrambling for a chance to be what it once was…

The mirror will make me bleed

It will make me see what I’ve become

Yet I smile with despair, for I hate that thing in the mirror

I keep trying to fix it and bring back the old glory

I shuffle to glue everything together with my blood, sweat and tears…

Or just blood…

As it keeps cutting me, but I love it

I love the thirst for the mirror

Never knowing when I’ll be done