I See Not by Emily Way (15, Canada)

I look into the mirror and see not myself but eyes, a nose, and a mouth that resemble mine. 
I raise a hand up to my face. 
My reflection does the same. 
She taunts me. 
I look at her and see not myself but all that is wrong with me.
I see not my hair but the grease that suffocates it. 
It hurts to shower.

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I see not my eyes but the bags that weigh them down. 
I can't sleep.
I see not my teeth but the yellow that taints them. 
Acid causes decay.
I see not my arms but the fat that still hangs. 
50 pushups. 
I see not my stomach but the rolls it so stubbornly retains
100 sit-ups.
I see not my hips but the stretch marks that distort them. 
High-waisted pants. 
I see not my thighs but the scars that haunt them; 
Don’t go swimming.
The scars remind me of the girl I’m looking at. 
The reflection that inspired them.
The loathing that followed.
Who hurt her?
My reflection answers, 
“Me.”
I close my eyes. 
I see not.