Mirror

Sometimes, it's a lie,
what I see.
Her singing, 
her laughing,
even her smile,
are all a facade.
Her face distorts.
The truth. Her truth.
A gentle hand
on her shoulder.
A touch contains love
and hate and fear 
and bravery. Hope
and loss and war
and peace. Beauty
and repulsion and envy
and talent.
She looks up, 
but behind her, only air.