She sits me in front of the mirror,
and does my hair;
we do this every day.
She runs a comb through my hair,
she talks to me;
this is what she has to say:
You're cold, like stone.
Not warm and loving.
You're not strong, you're weak.
You bring nothing but shame to this family.
You're not pretty, you're ugly;
You're never happy, you're always sad,
Why would God give a child like you to me?
Sit still!
Don't wiggle in your seat!
Sit up straight, look at me when I speak;
Do you understand me?
As the tears fall down my cheek,
I lift my head to look at my Mother when she speaks,
I'm only what you've made me, Mother.
Look into the mirror and see.
My eyes meet the mirror and find no difference between the two reflections I see.
Then I look more closely,
the reflection whose eyes are alive is me.
