The mirror has two faces, which one is mine?

Am I the one that covers the square or am I the one barely
there?

Do I have eyes that carry truth, or are they dark and
lifeless with a blistering dark hue?

Is my hair soft and warm like the blanket on my feet, or is
it dry and brittle like the scabs that run deep?

The mirror has two faces, but which one is mine?

It's the face that greets you, every single time. 

My face is mine and mine alone, those two faces is what
makes me whole.