A pale woman reflects back at me
As I peer into the mirror
Nothing I see is extraordinary
Not perfection by any means
Nothing to unseemly or scary
Yet nothing at all precarious
Yet something there beyond what I see
Something beyond the looking glass
Is something to hard, to soft to in between
Though I know not what it is
Oft have I stood here gazing into the reflector
Trying to see what they see
Yet still I cannot speculate
What it is they hate about me.
