That thing, the one in the mirror?
It's not me, it's can't be.
Broad shouldered, big handed,
as I tear up, so does it.
Is it truly me? No! It can't be.
Please don't let me stay this way,
stuck within a monster for all eternity.
I can't. I won't. I refuse.
This mortal prison will not contain me.
Confine me. Define me.
YOU ARE READING
Existential poetry
PoetryMy poetry book for poems that aren't all rainbows and sunshine, so it's probably going to be updated more often as most of my poems end up this way <3
