I thought I knew who I was as a person, 

I thought I could look into a mirror and recognize myself. 

Instead all I can see is a blur; 

A short grey mass of fast movement. 

I began to realize that at  

I could see a figure forming. 

There were sea green eyes, and long golden hair; 

But it would vanish by morning.  

Today there was a short pointy nose, 

But all that I loved yesterday never returned.  

I didn’t like this nose, and hoped it would disappear, 

Much like all the other pieces of me. 

But that nose was soon accompanied by small ears, 

Why, I thought,  

Why such small things when they could be more?  

Why was this grey mass riddled with ugliness? 

Those sea green eyes never returned, 

Instead, I was granted ones blacker than onyx. 

The light did not shine in them the way I wished, 

Instead they mimicked a bottomless pit, the darkness never ending. 

I stood in front of my mirror, 

Tracing out the waist it had bestowed. 

How do other people see me? 

How do other people feel? 

How can someone look at me with wonder? 

There is no secret in my eye, 

There is no chink in my waist. 

And my nose isn’t that of a perfectly previsioned procedure. 

The day has given me my smile. 

How I love to see my lips curl up, 

To see the light sparkle on my chiclet teeth. 

Oh, how I love this smile. 

The shine from my smile, 

It ricocheted from my eyes. 

And there it was, my very own secret, 

I didn’t need any other eyes. 

Now the day has given me legs; 

How could I get around on such short legs? 

But I noticed the sparkle in my eye started to dwindle, 

What is the harm in trying them out? 

Sadly, they stood, but I received new hair. 

It was long, black, and shiny. 

I loved how it swayed behind me, 

I loved it. 

I loved how I could see a me, 

Who I am, who I was all along. 

Even though I never saw it myself, 

I was always there. 

I never knew who or what I was, 

Simply because I couldn’t appreciate it, 

I couldn’t visualize the pieces of me that were there. 

But I could see others. 

That’s why those pieces of me disappeared 

Because they weren’t me. 

And if I could accept other things, 

I could love my own identity.