Me

She told me the pictures didn't look a bit like me.
I shoved the black and white versions of me, the
glossy, posed, exaggerated beauty I wanted so much to see
back in my pocket, and ran down the stairs, sorry I had
shown what I thought to be the truest depiction
of me
only to get the rejection I feared the most in an
appearance less than glossed, posed and printed,
When I placed them in the album, I caught a glimpse
of my own reflection in the sheen of my ink jet paper
face.
It was then I knew
I am never who I mean to be,
and always at once what I am perceived to be
and even best opinions and self evaluations
will never amount to anything more than fiction