In morning’s daze I looked upon the frame
And saw myself reflected in the glass.
The man whom I beheld, beheld the same,
We twins of visage, differing in class.
“For I am real,” I proudly said aloud,
“While your existence hangs defined by mine.”
But as I stared into his face I found
A zit! Oh no! It blemished my design!
I wept and wept, for what was I to do?
Charisma seemed so close, but out of reach
To one whose face was living hell to view,
A ruined pride, that mirrored man did teach.
And as the tears increased, so did the dread;
Perhaps I mold myself to him instead.