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I look in the mirror & I don’t recognize what I see.
It’s not congruent with what I’ve been told or how I’ve been told to view me.
I’m told I’m not strong or manly & my way is wrong.
When I ask why, they say, “it’s in a book & that book is the way to belong.”
Others don’t tell me anything but make it clear I’m not welcomed.
Yet they smile, are cordial but no one gets close, like I’m surrounded by a moat, with no access to boats.
When I inquire, they say, “It’s not you but what you represent.”
As if my Being is some sort of declaration or a sign of the world’s descent.
What if they’re right, the things they see?
I’m scared they’re right what they’re reflecting back to me.
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I look in the mirror & I don’t recognize what I see.
It’s not congruent with what I’ve been told or how I’ve been told to view me.
This looking glass can’t be right; adorning me with feathers; now capes and gold with legions of warriors.
This image is strong & manly & is heir to a thrown. This can’t be right, or I would’ve known.
What are these books upon books with pages being sewn back in?
You’re telling me our history exists & this is not the end?
I’m seeing Shamans and Kings and kids with dreams. Leaders, Builders and powerful facilitators. There are ghosts, spirits & things I can’t describe all standing behind me in this mirror’s eye.
What if I’m right, the things I see?
I’m scared I’m right what’s being reflected back to me.
Photo: Getty Images