"Who are you and what've you done with me?"

I asked the pushy jerk

Who seemed to always bring out my worst.

I saw the monster in the mirror,

Filled will anger,

Filled with hate,

Filled with my own sense of injustice

Regarding the place I hold in the earth.

"Who are you and what've you done with me?"

I asked the lovely lover

Who made me gooder and always seemed to bring the best out of me.

I looked in the mirror to see

The beauty that was there,

The sweetness and the righteousness

That flowed like gold in mountain air,

And how good Love looked on me.

"Who are you and what've you done with me?"

I asked the foreigner in the mirror

Who gazed so unfamiliarly back at me.

"Ask the invisible hands of time," she finally answered,

"The ones that work so visibly upon the mind,

The hands, the face, the abdomen."

"My soul!" I stammered.

"What have you done with her?"

I asked the foreigner in the mirror,

Who gazed so unfamiliarly

Back at me.

-jenn