I expect

it will be

like a mirror,

her account of me.


A fitting

physical description

with some embellishments

and some stories,

but I see

no mirror.


Ahead of me is a painting

that has been immortalized

in published works.

I stand behind it,

it is now

a window overlay

of how people

perceive me.


I walk around

in these

emperor’s clothes,

have I lost my dignity?

I’m beginning to have trouble

telling myself

from the painting.


Will it become a mirror?

But no,

it still doesn’t fit,

quite right,

but is



an apt perception.

One thought on “Overlay

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