a word on hyper-independence

My life has always been one of quiet sovereignty,
a party where the only attendees are mirrors.

Only I seem to notice when the girl who looks back at me is spent, 
when the crown is straining her neck and her authority flinches. 

Only I notice when her skin looks juicy and pert,
when her fears simmer low in her irises,
when she can’t keep her hands out of her mouth.

I have always been watching myself, 
with such dripping, earnest desire.
I turn away from kind eyes because I’ve only ever known my own.
How could anyone else watch me the same way?