This morning, as I got ready for work, I had an added stressor- an interview- to consider. As I looked in the mirror, I started the same old routine of picking myself apart, like a crow does it carrion. This piece is the first of two parts- one part where the woman is judging herself in the mirror, and the second part where the mirror (her soul) is celebrating her.
This first part is still unfinished. I am still playing around with word choice. This is a piece that I will need to go back to and revise and edit. So here is the rough draft of part one (part two will be a later slice)…
She stands before me,
With eyes clouded by torment.
Her head tipped to the side uncertainly.
Tousled hair attempting to hide her imperfections.
Judgment lines her brows,
While loathing pulls down the corner of her lips.
Threadbare shoulders slump,
With the weight of self-condemnation.
As her arms constrict her sides,
Fingers clench her skin,
Leaving marks of bitterness,
Pale in comparison to her scars of pain and responsibility,
Tailing down her hips curved with regret.
Restless legs extend with frustration,
While disgruntled toes clench,
The discarded towel on the floor.