That's not me

That isn't me.
That reflection staring at me.
The refined features of a face.
Smooth skin,
high cheek bones,
straight nose,
soft plump lips.
These are not mine.
They never have been and never will be.
This image mocks me,
copying my every move.
it seems like it could be me.
but it's not.

I am me,
my face is unrefined,
the two thick oval scars on my left cheek,
a hard cut jaw line with sucken in cheeks,
the slight crick in my nose,
my thinker bottom lip and its thinner twin,
the scar on the edge of that thicker lip.
These are mine.
This will always be me.
This horrid image of sunk in eyes
so full of sleep deprivation that I make up all the words insomniacs,
Scars deep enough to fill with every name ive ever been called.

this.
this is me.
that reflection though?
i have never met that person.
If they have a name,
i dont know it.

I want them out of my mirror though.
They don't belong there.
Showing me a beauty that can never be,
an impossible idea,
an imagined fantasy.

It isn't me.
I know this because I live here.
In the real world where possibilities meet their ends,
dreams die,
imagination is a fake word,
and fantasy is another term for dilusional.

That reflection staring at me isn't mine.