Hall of Mirrors

On the surface of calm waters,
trapped in the windows of pristine shops,
resting rigidly on walls –
inescapable reality.

With a single, slipped glance
insecurities are exposed.
It needs no thorough search
to find misplaced hairs and extra pounds.

Reflect, reassess, reappear,
and hope the deprivation
and hair dye made it bearable
to look in that terrible frame.

Lining that proud hall of Versailles
are critics much harsher than nobles.
The mocking echoes wonder
how Marie faced all of those mirrors.




Sorry for the kind of morbid poetry. It's finals week. Positive thoughts won't happen until tests are done. This was written as part of my final sheaf that I turned in last Friday for my poetry class, so we'll see what my professor thought of it.
I am running on so little sleep is stupid. I am tweaking so hard on caffeine that my eyelids flutter when I try to shut them. I have a cumulative history final that is over 1000 pages of reading. I am so tired that I'm sick to my stomach. It's also my least favorite day of the year, when it comes around and reminds me that she's gone.


I'm just ready for Lyon.