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My magic mirror on the wall

is nowhere near magical.

It doesn't show a skinny waist.

It doesn't show deep collar bones,

   nor skinny thighs.

In the story,

my magic mirror is supposed to show

the fairest in the land.

Why doesn't my mirror

show me that?

I stand

crying in front of my broken mirror.

But there is not one crack.

The mirror is not broken.

My views on myself are.