Ana
When she was beautiful,
she didn't know she was.
When she wasn't,
it didn't matter.
The mirror always showed her
a stranger to hate,
a stranger she feared
was really herself
staring back,
a smile sadly admitting defeat
above a mountain of flesh.
That she could still smile
cheered us,
even as she
grew sicker inside.
Once a stranger to defeat,
she couldn't help
but lie and hide.
Once eager to please,
she frowned on all her mother's treats.
In her crusade against herself,
we were the enemy.
Until, one day,
there were no smiles left.
Her beloved mirror grew dusty.
Finally, we stood it against the wall.
We let it outface itself.
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