War of Perception

My perception, has been a war that I can't break through...

too often I look at my reflection and can't face the truth,

I know it's not the mirror that's broken.

The horrors of imperfection can't any louder be spoken.

I walk out in public eyes to every viewers discretion,

I know their eyes won't lie to them‐

but, what will their hearts say?

What has their perception said to them?

I'm not really concerned with what the think...

but, what messages will their hearts bring?

Because it's with the tongue that the hearts speaks,

from deep within which their voices sing...

but, what others see,

and what do I,

has never been the same.

My perception, has been a war in which I've been captured, a prisoner-

placed in a cell in front of hatred's mirror.

Surrounded by stones I did not place, walls I cannot climb,

nor can I break through...

forced to look through this filter,

only reminded of what is less than satisfactory‐

told what to see in the mirror,

all what not to be pleased with...

as if wearing this false lens is obligatory.

The portrait in my head wasn't painted by me,

hung over the fireplace as a spoil of war,

by the rising and setting of the sun, I hope it burns.

My perception, a long-fought, uphill battle,

one in which, I was not the victor.