She entered the house of mirrors
and examined her appearances:
squished swollen and bulbous,
spun and swirled
like hard water down a drain.
Her steps reverberated through the hall,
As she assigned implications
to each warped portrait.
Nearing the end of the maze of perverted replicas
she found herself startled by her own reflection.
Not a funhouse distortion, but her proper existence.
The bags below her eyes,
her brittle, bony arms,
the chapped lips,
the lines creasing her forehead.
She decided that this
was not her,
and with that
stepped back into her reality.
Tags: 302poetry, poem1, section3