Mirror Wounds

They say “beauty fades” but only when I’m fully disarmed.

The gnashing teeth near my cheek, meaning nothing but harm.

They make paper planes out of magazines, then fly them my way

Until I weep those bright ads with seamless smiles into my rosé.

Even in my dreams the harmful words chase down my pride,

Telling me I’m great as is and also – which parts of me to hide.

It’s never enough products unless it’s too much for their taste.

It’s the same standard for everyone, but you can’t simply copy/paste.

And I wonder whether this is the most isolating of feelings –

Slashing yourself in the mirror with words until you’re bleeding.

But they repeat “beauty fades” like it would make it less painful

When their teeth sink into my skin the next time

They call my mirror wounds distasteful.