I hate the way I look in mirrors
I like the way I look in my head
and I live in denial of how I really look
but every morning and every evening
I face the naked truth
as I exit the shower
and I really look at myself
hunched over
head dripping
my glorious mane matted down
showing exactly where my bargain hairstylist
botched my 'do
and where I used to have pecs
I now have pointy nipples
and a bustline that most ten-year old girls
would envy
and invariably I look at my stomach
a doughy mass of wet light brown skin
covered with brown hair
kind of like chocolate chip cookie dough
if you dropped it on
the barbershop floor
but I have nice legs
they are long and somewhat still tone
though I haven't jogged in
six years
gazing into the mirror
I strike the pose of
Michelangelo's "David"
holding my breath
but this lasts only a second
and burst out in a horse laff
because the only thing remotely alike
between me and
that sculpture of the great Hebrew king
are our very modest genitalia
out of the corner of my eye
I glimpse my profile in silhouette:
a round mass atop two spindly legs
and I realize
I'm Wazowski from "Monsters, Inc."
I smile
years ago such thoughts would have
sent me into paroxysms of self-loathing
and I've starve myself
denying myself everything
just to look
never quite thin enough
but somewhere along the way
I realized that I was working
so much on my on the outside
because I thought I really needed
something from the outside
but I didn't
and that's no way to spend
the only life that I've got
so I look at the mirror
and I often wince
but I don't hate myself
I look into my own eyes
and think
"well, whoever you are,
you're alright"
and know that deep inside
my soul
there is beauty.