170cm, 53kg

I look past the mirror
whenever I can, but today
I can't look away
from the person reflected

in the slightly fogged glass
that doesn't always show
the image clearly,
but it's clear enough.

Hair that can't settle
for one colour or another,
shades of blonde
overlapping and blending
like streams of thought that
only connect
to each other by thin strings.
Fringe brushed to one side,
a curl in it from where
I always tuck it behind my ear.
Just a little thing,
and I don't know if anyone else
ever notices it.

Heart-shaped face,
wide forehead
(clever girl, big brain,
large skull, perhaps?
It's an explanation,
even if it's nonsense),
high cheekbones that line
gaunt cheeks quick to flush –
I'm easily embarrassed
by my own haplessness,
because I know
I'm more capable than that.
But it doesn't bother anyone but me.

Brown eyes,
but there's a ring of green,
and that's one of the few traits
I get from my mother.
I'm like Harry Potter that way –
I look like my father,
but I've got my mother's eyes.
Brown, turning to green,
dry autumn leaves
turning to new spring growth.

Those eyes don't work so well,
and being without my glasses
makes me dizzy so quickly.
It would annoy me,
but I like wearing my glasses.
They need cleaning, though,
they're covered in dust
from lying on the shelf overnight.

I hardly ever notice
the rest of me,
the body that does the work
of this mind I prize so highly.

Pianist's fingers,
not that I ever was that good
at playing music.
I didn't enjoy it enough
to practise as much as I needed to
the first time I tried to learn,
and then I never had the chance,
or the opportunity,
or the time to try again
(actually, that's a lie.
I have time, I just don't have
the confidence to try something
without being prompted.)

Slender arms,
but not weak by any means.
It's a shame that I
can carry such weight
in a bag,
but I still can't
carry the weight of myself
for long before
I collapse.
But I pick myself up again,
so that's probably okay.

I'm not a big girl,
even if I'm tall
among the Welsh.
Not much weight
and I'm not sturdy
or steady on my feet,
but I can balance
and hold my ground
when I have to,
and that's just what I do.

Long legs,
they add to my height
but not much else.
But I can run fast enough
and long enough
to survive,
and if I can do that,
I can do enough.
There's no need to do
everything all at once.
Stay awake long enough
to do what needs to be done.
If you're only going
to fall asleep halfway through,
there's not much point.

And like the tangles in my hair
that a single brush a day
won't undo
whatever I do,
my thoughts tangle
and change and turn
into something that they weren't
at first, but that's just
how my mind works.

So I step away from the mirror
and then I'm done with those thoughts.
Still a day left
to get through
until I can go back to sleep,
and sleep is good.

I exist,
and until I cease,
I'll keep moving.
It's simple enough.
Until this body disintegrates,
it'll keep working,
and as long as it keeps working,
so will I.