Self-Indulgence

The woman in the mirror -- 
The one who does what I do?
And wears her hair like me?
And looks straight at me?
That woman may look like me
But she isn't me.
She is my opposite, my opponent, my dual.
She is my prison, my onlooker, my watch-dog. 
When I do my makeup,
And brush my teeth,
And pop a pimple. 
She is my judge, my executioner, my bullet. 
Or perhaps I got it all wrong, 
And SHE is the free one
And meanwhile I am the one
Locked in the mirror --
Staring at myself.