The Funhouse of Mirrors

They speak.

Just one,
small, glance.

Contorting your eyes
to stretch past your lips,
with the thought of fourth grade,

beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Hips become ginormous,
and your torso and legs
become mere inches,
with the thought of
that little boy in the grocery store,
“Mommy, her butt is huge!”

a woman’s body is so much more than just a body

Your hair seems to have risen
and your head has become small,
frizz and sprawled hair escape
your messy bun.
And you think to yourself about what your ex-husband said,
“I just feel like you’re letting yourself go.”

your confidence and worth is not judged by anyone

Now, even the reflection
starting back
in the rearview mirror,
in the bathroom,
in the picture you’ve just taken,
the body is what it always has been
but words change them.

We’re our own Funhouse
and words claim us.


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the way our lives are reflected and seen


Break the silence. End the violence.

Felie Fel's Pages

Don't be afraid, just turn the page.

Luke Atkins

Film, Music, and Television Critic

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