Don’t stand me up to my mirror. My mirror lies.
Damn it, for once see me the way my own eyes
see what I make myself believe’s what I truly am.
You keep trying to get me to see what you want
to see, like that’s what I should try to recognize
as the real me. And I nod as if I see it, but I don’t,
not without seeing what’s beneath that thin cover
over what’s still there, what’s not all that well hid
to me, what’s too hard to deceive myself you won’t
eventually catch on to, probably you already know
but hope your compliments will prove me the lover
you want me to be for you. Let’s not give a damn
about my faults, right? Let’s pretend it as though
the one before you didn’t see what you say you see
and the one before her didn’t know what she said
she knew and the one before that couldn’t touch
what he said he had touched and the one before
the one before the one before the one before them.
If you knew me like you say, you’d not condemn
them so easily on my word. They knew up front
who I was through and through at my very worst
and still loved, still accepted, still named their own
best after me. It was more than I knew I deserve.
It was too good for me to ever be true. It was more
than I could accept from anyone. It was too much
to believe in. Better it be I the one who can’t accept
anyone who can give the real me sincere respect.
You think you see me? How is it you’ve not known
me enough to know it’s only I can hear my scream?
Me, not any of those whom I have tried to blame
so as to throw you off the trail. It’s me, me instead
of them. I don’t accept my own self, my own name,
my word, my love, my light, my reality, my dream.