This Was Really Difficult To Write

I have to avoid mirrors.. It's not that i want to, its just that i legitimately have to because if i dont the only thing ill be able to think about is that sinking feeling of "if this is what i see, everyone else sees it too". Even though i know what's there, i like to believe, or at least pretend that others dont. I like to assert my best efforts at making eye contact with people Because i know how it feels when you realize that they arent looking into your eyes when you are talking When they stare at something that isnt you. Its on you, but it in no way defines you. I wish i could get that in my head. I have grown used to the comments from my family, to the stares from the strangers, from my friends. they think my peripheral vision doesnt extend beyond 20 degrees to either side of me, but believe me, i can see you and the least you could do is be less blatant about it. I am tired of people telling me that beauty isnt everything, that its whats on the inside that counts. I know that ,but its hard to keep that in mind when your outside appearance is the very first thing people will see and when it isnt a good appearance, they no longer want to explore the inside and i am tired of people accusing me of being dirty and unhygienic or telling me to wash my face.. You dont think ive tried that? You dont think that i havent  spent hundreds of dollars on the soaps, the lotions, the medications and have changed my regimen a countless number of times from the most simplistic to the most complex and back again? Thats like accusing the poor to be incompetent and lazy  when, in reality, the work their asses off to survive on a day to day basis and i am tired of people assuming that they know my own skin better than i do. But in reality, i dont even know my own skin. Even if i did, i dont think we would get along. Every time i think we are getting to know each other, something happens. As if she is constantly trying to reminding me that she holds dominance over me and that i am Forever a slave to what i see. I am never good enough for her. Every time i am desperate, i am willing  to get to know her better. But she is still a stranger to me, and you cannot be enemies, or friends for that matter, with a stranger. I have gifted my skin with creams and masks and washes and lotions in attempts to get to know her better but the only thing she has returned to me is the gift of self loathing. This gift isnt a gift you can re gift to a co worker or your aunt julie in atlanta,no, this gift, is something that you unwillingly choose to display proudly in your home and now its the first thing you can see when you walk in, this gift is like the visitor that never leaves, that touches all of your belongings and taints them, and then you decide that you hate your house too even though its a perfectly good house that keeps you warm and safe and loves you. My body is trying to tell me i am beautiful in a language i no longer understand. She is banging on my front door desperate to save me but the self loathing gets there first and tells her that i am not home. And then she drags me by my wrists back to the basement, Every wall is lined with mirrors. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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