Girl in the mirror – Delhi Poetry Slam

Girl in the mirror

By Israh


white sunlight, empty bathroom

I look into her deprived eyes

dune like canvas, splashed with water

drowning my sense of self,

down the sink

no amount of makeup or staring into the mirror

can be used to ‘fix’ her

trying to look perfect,

like all the internet starlets

a winless war, a marathon

leaving you questioning

what are you even worth?



chitter-chatter in the distance

plastic smiles, plastic people

I don’t think I relate to anyone

constantly dying for something real

fiona apple on the queue, forget him pill

I’m growing tired of being an ingenue


“you’re only 18, don’t need to worry”

“you’re losing time, pain is temporary”

alone in the elevator

my floor’s too far, losing patience

I don’t wanna be here

I don’t think I like her,

…the girl in the mirror



“who’s the guy? you’ve dressed so nice”

it’s not my job to turn men on

another comment on my stick-like waistline

from some older man, a tormentor

another one on the length of my blouse

way too provocative?

being reduced to just my body

not allowed to be angry

only an ornament or a mad woman

or a love machine or a plastic cup

that you fill with your plastic love


I think I’m losing her

…the girl in the mirror



pouring kerosene on telephones

losing sleep like the kilos

or the light from the scrolls

so blue, like the state I’m in

dreamt of red streams dripping from my wrists

hurt like being thrown into red mortar bricks

words all engraved on the bedroom ceiling

in bold and black, saying

‘you’re no good, you’re no good’

and the ghost underneath my bed

my only real friend

whispered underneath its breath

darling, they don’t understand

I stared at the ceiling, so red

if only my depression was a bone fracture
I said.



crying in some party bathroom

black glitter, tissue paper

flickering heartbeat from all the pressure

I don’t recognise her

…the girl in the mirror



time slows down in the metro

hopeless, hopeful, dreadful eyes

who is the reflection in the window?

from Sion to Seawoods, I lose my mind

did I forget the wide eyed

8 year old precocious child

they’re trying to condition my mind

asylum like,

being institutionalised

getting lost in the tunnels of who won

and who lost, in the race of acquiring

badges of honour that don’t matter

I know I never belonged



now I’m drinking my own venom

spitting out poison

into the wine red journal

like a thorn bird to bleed glitter

when will it end?

when I stop listening to the demons


vanishing into twilight

into the lakes, secret places to hide

but sometime around midnight

I saw an incandescent glow, rare to find

fiery eyes, solar mind, she’s got the guts

only have to shut the door behind

It’s the season of dread,

but I can take the road less travelled and own it

it’s the season of dread

and though I haven’t fully found her yet,

I know who the girl in the mirror is.


Leave a comment