The mirror reflects my state of mind. Not the truth. Not any singular truth. The clarity of my heart shining through my forehead The scowl of my worries curving my shoulders My love of self embracing the most excellent styling of my perfectly filthy hair Or my mild blue afflicting my perception that the very same hair sees me unfit for human contact... Naked. Some days I scrutinise that reflected body as if it owes me something, answerable to all the erroneous demands of our superficial culture - what is that curve? That hair? Why has gravity been allowed here? Other times I find the beauty of it breathtaking, wishing I was someone else so that I could hold it in my gaze and reach out with tender touch to feel its perfection tremble with pleasure. When the mirror tells me harsh truths, if it is a lucky day, I can remember that the mirror reflects my state of mind and I make some time to soften my thoughts until the mirror reflects love to me once more.