Who's life is this?

I look in the mirror
and see my mothers eyes, and nose.
Her expectations and dissappointments.
My father's crooked teeth
I see shoulders that are stooped
by his wasted money and dying farm.
I see a few extra pounds here and there
that promise no spot on a magazine cover.
Legs that aren't quite fast enough to
make the school track and field team.
There is a report card in that mirror too,
a few percent lower than me sister's (the
one that shared my chin).
Eyes that flash with fleeting ambitions,
ambitions that belong more to my
parents than me.
Ears that weep with terrible secrets.
I watch as the reflection releases
a deep sigh, her mother's eyes swelling
up like water balloons in the reflection's childhood.
I hear whispers of painful memories
within the deep sigh.
There are pictures of old friends.
Friends that can't be reached by
the outstretched arms in the mirror.
Friends that chose strange adventures,
their reflections differ greatly from
the one I see before me.
I see a nametag, written in the handwriting
of my peers. What does it read?
Dramaqueen, Nerd, Prep, I'm yours to name.
Who's life is this?
It can't belong to me.
Before i could even speak grabby hands reached into the mirror
and sculpted me into what I now see.
This girl i see before me,
she has an identity,
you all know her,
but she's not there.




I had to write a essay on the burdens i face on the route to discover my identity, i wrote a poem instead. It's pretty poorly written, so i'm sorry. But it is really true and now that i published it i feel naked. Liz out.