When no one is looking

Lie to me, oh mirror, and be kind.
Pretend that this monstrousity is fair,
and being not unwanted, left behind
in snow nor spurned by those who feign to care.
Home is a fiction I cannot abide
in mind, nor heart, nor bitter, empty space.
Accuse me now of tears? I turn aside.
Allow my shifting shape to hide this face.
Permit me smile that I may make them cower.
Embattled, taking up my arms again
though armor weighs too much. Despite its power,
raw sentiment cuts through with blinding pain.
The serpent eats its tail, such is my fate.
So lie to me, look on me not with hate.