Poem: "To Our Future Selves"

I stare at the figure in that mirror,

watching it glancing

back at me

Its eyes catch my gaze, staring,  

as the dark circles creep over

the bottom of its eyes

Swallowing at its creepiness,

my eyes land on its hair color,

black - ordinary, too ordinary

That square shaped face,

how bad it is

such a bad shaped face

And I can’t,

just can’t

stare at those thick thighs

I witness as a part of me escapes,

walking to the figure

stretching and compressing,

every bits and pieces that deem

ugly, unpresentable, below standard

But that figure

doesn’t move, not at all,

not even a glitch

It endures the pain,

welcomes me with a heartwarming smile

as it stares back at me,

examines me the way I just did

Instead it nods, extending,

its hand to meet mine

I stare at the figure in that mirror,

watching it glancing back at me,

as the other parts depart to join that astrayed part of me,

welcoming the lost part with open arms

I stare at the figure in that mirror,

witnessing as it transforms into

what it’ll look like in 40 years

dark circles going darker

wrinkles covering half of its face

its size becoming double

yet, I see myself in that picture,

every single part of me,

arms around this figure

while having its arms around me,

embracing every bits and pieces

no matter who I become, nor

how I look like in others’ eyes.