*I wrote this (along with the next five poems in this collection) early this morning when I couldn't sleep. You'll see evidence of my exhaustion in them.*
Standing on a ledge, a fractal of herself
wonders why the mirror matters at all
such fruitless things; orientations and galleries
and dresses and veils draping frivolity over what
her parents are afraid to see and what they need to hide from others.
Standing on the ledge, letting the mirror fall
into the lapping waves and a crow dives in to retrieve
the handled glass, carries it to its nest of eggs, for them to admire when they hatch, this wonderful shining object
one that causes so much distress, distress that will breed in that poor crow's nest.
It was coming always coming from that hurting girl
on the ledge
her mirror traveling from brainless host to host like
a beautiful delicate fungus, entrancing and tricking its parasites
into numbness
and numbness is what the girl feels as she stands on the ledge
lasting effects from that vile mirror, the thing that bred her this way and
it isn't fair, it's not fair that her parents gave it to her
that she was raised with it always replicating her movements
her consequences versus actions...
and the mirror was the only education that lingered
in the head of the pondering girl.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry and Writes
PoetryThis is the sequel to "Poetry", spanning from August 2018 through April 2019. cover made by me on canva.com All rights reserved. Do not copy any part of t...
