False Measurements

You look in the mirror.
You see the wrinkles.
You see the scars.
You see your age,
the white hairs and spotted skin.

You see the wounds,
self-inflicted and otherwise.
You see the eyes
and their bloodshot whites.
You see the old blue shirt you wear,
a symbol more of comfort
than affluence.

You see it all.
Mirrors never lie
except by omission –
the biggest lie of all.

About this poem

We all too often measure people by the wrong things – the things we can see, or the things we think we can see.

Sigh,

Tom