With love,

I am the girl in the mirror.
She goes about all day conquering the world,
Battles every word and canon they at her hurled.  
They jeer at her body, complain of the lust she’d imposed,
She eats the words alive, the thoughts decomposed.
Her wit do they measure, with a scale made of wickedness,
The numbers they see! “Oh, horrific maliciousness!”.

I see her from the corner of my eye,
As I brew all my odious lies,
All the malice she swallowed,
I show nothing but disgust in my sighs.
I mock at the way she clothes her scars,
Did she think it would ever hide her vile?
“All but a fool you’ve made of yourself, my dear,”
“To utter words in defiance? To the liberty connoisseur!”.

Every day, I wait,
It's her shadow that gives me life.
And I hate to let her go,
As I live trapped in this glass o’silver woe.
In love, do I bound her to me,
I, the girl in the mirror she sees.