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Self-Portrait, revised

Is this better?


Every morning, facing the mirror
You feel like Dorian Gray who saw in his portrait
The old, consumed man he was supposed to be.
You have seen it before,
The image you try to project,
Blending in time, growth, and decay.

Every morning you have a routine
You perform magic
And transform yourself into
What you want to be.

Every morning you select
From a wardrobe blessed by fashion
The clothes that you need
To make you part of your world.

Years spent making yourself up
And today your mask presses
Uncomfortably against your nature.
The leaks in your mind
Wet the plaster
Of your mask, and it crumbles.
You can’t find yourself in a magazine.
The lost identity never was yours.

Today, you start a new portrait
Incorporating strange features from a night filled with dreams.
You need to slow down, to let the colors blend
Allow for experimentation.
Your true self, one trait at a time,
Sometimes over another you tried and disliked.

You call it, work in progress
Vowing never to finish
Ignoring the critics
Resisting the urge to hide your portrait in the attic,
Because one day you could be Dorian Gray
Discovering your true self
And wanting to tear it with a big knife.

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