In the mirror stands a naked person, clothed in cotton and a variation of synthetics
She looks in the eyes of the face and sees nothing covering her heart, just a light veil
Wounds from long ago remain, but enveloped in skin grown thickly over time
The flesh feels tender, reminded at times of the sharp pain shooting up from deep within
Yet the heart stays pumping, pump, pump, pump
And under the weight of her imagination, she realizes she has to let go
Let go of the things that she uses to cause her heart to ache
She sees herself, beyond the case of her own victim, beyond the woman she alone tries to create
She is not her own, she accepts even while naked and seen
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