The mirrors choice
The Mirror’s Truth
I stand in front of the mirror,
and it shows me—
but not really.
The left is right, the right is left,
a quiet trick my eyes have always known.
I fix my hair,
adjust the strands just how I like them.
Not for the world—just for me.
But when I step away,
that version of me stays behind,
trapped in glass,
while the world sees something else.
They see the "real" me,
the one I don’t recognize,
the one I don’t shape.
Their eyes decide, their words mold,
but it’s never the version I like best.
Two choices—
live as the reflection I love,
or as the reality they expect.
So I choose,
left instead of right,
my own small rebellion,
because even if they see it different,
I know what's real to me.
My hair is my life,
and life is mine to shape.
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