The Girl In the Mirror

Envy is mine for the girl in the mirror;
She knows no pain, and her smile flickers often.
Yet I wonder, if I were she, what contemplation would be mine,
As I look out at me.
Would envy be mine on the other side of the glass?

On my side dwells Pain, always looming ahead, so tangible.
I know she suffers little in that pretty world of hers.
This side of our boundary is Love lost and Hatred kindled;
She suggests to me, with her blithe countenance,
That Potent feelings are a stranger to her.

She seems such an alien to me, never hinting at our affiliation.
Everyday she appears the same, with her ever-placid greeting.
Many difficult moments have I endured, but when I gaze
At the girl in the mirror, her expression is left unchanged.
I covet her façade’s sweet appeal, but simultaneously rebuke it.

She has mastered the art of drama.
Her brush ready each morning, she paints a smile onto her weary visage,
And attempts laughter until her act is flawless.
Everyone loves her, yet her heart alludes each of them.
For how can you love what you deceive?

No, envy could not be hers, on the other side of the glass.
Like an eclipse she has concealed my identity among my friends
And stolen their affections.
They desired a show of happiness, and a show they received.
She is weary now, however, for all actors must fall from their peak.

Yet I think she understands now that we are one, she and I,
For yesterday I beheld her weeping – the face in the glass.
She cries, for she knows of my pain.
No one, but now she, knows who I am, though they imagine they do.
No one else knows what I suffer, for all they see is the girl in the mirror.