WHAT DOES THE MIRROR SEE?
By Hajarah Ikpemosi Adokutu Illustration by ål nik on Unsplash On the foggy reflected surface, I turn my clear vision away. Choosing to believe in my sight and not in the echo of what I have deemed unsightly, like a festering wound tinged with rot. I hide from my reflection, like a beaten dog hides from its master. Scared that these scars are just a few. A few too many or a few too little? I choose to evade what could give me a sum of my pain. What do I see when I look into the mirror? A question I can only answer in the fragments of my pride and from the still water, I hide. What will the mirror see when it looks at me? A shallow husk attempting to be grain. Trying to create pain where there is none, an attempt to appear not so lame. To paint scars on fresh skin, to deceive the world into thinking “oh, she had seen! “ What have these boring plain eyes seen? Secondhand experienc...
