I look in the mirror and I see a face,
But unfamiliar, different on the outside than what I’ve formed from within.
Am I still here or have I been replaced?
Stolen by time and robbed of truth,
The truth that should hold fast and remained burned in my mind,
And painted over since my youth.
Do I have to accept what I now can see?
Or can I close my eyes to a story of the real life I have lived,
The one displayed by the outer me?
Can comforts, smiles, and sentiment,
Be my reality, the one I wish for, the one that I feel on the inside?
Or should I yield to what my reflection has sent?
In the end, who can say what is real?
Beyond all opinions, above any words, and through the cloak of discretion,
I am what I feel.
