A Cracked Perfection

For as long as I can remember,
I've had my mirror by my side.
She was always there to talk to,
and comfort me when I cried.

When I was very young,
I went to my mirror each day.
I watched as new bruises formed.
My mirror made it all OK.

In elementary school,
I had more secrets than friends.
But my mirror was always there to listen,
so I made her my best-est friend.

As I grew to be just 12,
my mirror was there to see,
molestations, divorce, and rape.
She saw my heart ripped out of me.

My mirror then saw me cut,
and that's when she formed a crack.
She knew I was hurting,
and she wondered what she lacked.

Well after many cuts,
and many more nights of tears,
my mirror spoke one word,
and within me brought out fear.

Her one word was "control".
Just one small simple word.
But it soon changed to more.
She said, "Control will make you cured."

My mirror has been with me,
since the first day I got hit.
So I decided she was right,
all this crying I had to quit.

So the next morning we set to work.
My best friend, the mirror, and me.
I was going to have control,
and be strong, and loved, you'll see.

My mirror started to change.
Her crack started to grow.
But I still listened to her.
She told me I had to start saying "no".

I have to be thin, and perfect too,
'cause that's the only way to be loved.
My mirror says I've got a long way to go,
because a failure is all I'm made of.

My mirror told me I was fat,
so I decided not to eat.
She told me I was a failure,
so everyone in my class I had to beat.

My mirror told me many times,
that I had to have control.
I had to have the perfect body,
if I wanted the perfect soul.

Many more years went by.
I was still doing as I was told.
My mirror was my friend,
she was helping me to reach my goal.

My friends at school started to notice,
that I wasn't eating at all.
My mirror said they were just jealous.
"Get rid of them so you won't fall"

My friends were not perfect,
so I had to let them go.
"Get rid of all imperfections,
so you can have a perfect soul."

The next morning my mirror's crack,
had reached all the way to the end.
She now had an imperfection,
so she could no longer be my friend.

I took my imperfect mirror,
and smashed her to the floor.
"My soul is almost perfect,
I don't need her anymore."

Another year went by,
and I was getting very weak.
My hair was falling out.
I was too ill to even speak.

The next morning I didn't wake up.
I died, having no control.
I only wanted a perfect body.
Though, death, was not my goal...