poetry

Artificial: A Reflection

It steps into view.
A beam of blinding shocking white cuts into it.
It is startled 
for a short second 
     before...
it becomes mesmerized,
     astonished
by what it sees.
It steps closer,
     and closer,
     and—
                much too close now.
But, still, it is captivated.
It looks at a blank mirror face,
an expression it is all too familiar with.
     Clear.
     Plain.
           Marked.
It grimaces.
I don't look like myself—
     Don't lie.
           You don't feel pretty anymore.