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Interminable Reflections
At least she was honest in her ugliness,
whereas I hid mine beneath a sweet gloss
She was greedy and self-centered
I lied to myself about my own self-obsession
She did not look upon herself from the outside
To see what others saw
but acted from ingrained self-interest
And felt no guilt in doing so
The ends justified her means,
I had no ends, only means,
and those unclear formulations
I cared too much what others thought
And built my life and image on any stranger's view
I flittered like an insect from one kind word to the next
And could only see myself through their eyes
If I were honest, with myself and with my existence
What would I truly be?
I would be real, that much at least
More than a mere reflection
Regina Calton Burchett
June 9, 2000
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