The mirror is my enemy
That lurks and waits for me
To catch a glimpse,
Or perhaps a stare,
A startled wince,
A shrug then a glare.

My enemy's power
Has passed its hour,
It fades and wanes
And I no longer fear;
In fact, those panes
Have grown rather dear.

Sweet enemy mine
At last, I know I'll find,
The truth in thy glower,
And the answer that
I seek, tell me, Flower,
Does this dress make my butt look fat?