Belle Brandenfels
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
God, I hate this fucking spell.
God, my eyes are so tired and beady.
God, should I sleep or is it because I stopped eating?
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
why do I love when my cheeks start to fall
into my face like busted drywall?
Why do I crave for my neck to be small?
Am I supposed to have arms like a doll?
Or would it be better if I could catch my next fall?
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Tears inside the changing room stall.
Piles of clothes that I’ll never wear,
my beady, cold eyes
and their ugly, cold glare
all over my skin, on the body I grew.
I’m still a girl, I’m just twenty-two.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
beat me down,
make me nothing at all.
CLAMOR 