Can you look in the mirror honestly? Does it tell you the truth of who you are? Does it show you in bold all the little secrets you hold?
Can you look in the mirror with pleasure? Are you able to observe the crease of time on your brow? Do you see the lines you’ve said displayed on your head?
Can you look in the mirror with trust? Has your reflection morphed too? Do your eyes look at you with pride or is it behind the lids you still hide?
Can you look in the mirror with dignity? Did the ego wash away in the shower? Are you seeing yourself as well and taking that nakedness into the words you tell?
Can you look into the mirror for long? Is it a gentle and confident exchange of sight? Do you see a human with intentions pure or a facade to procure?
Can you look into the mirror and see truth? Do your eyes relay back to you reality? Do your lips form the way they appear as you speak or are they cracked and breaking speech?
Can you look into the mirror and rely on it to be accurate? Does it show you who you really are? Will your reflection last to be who they see you as or will you be a reflection of your past?
Can you look into the mirror and smile? Are you the same in both dimensions? Are you honorable in the eyes of those that seek you to be reliable?
Can you look in the mirror? Can you stare at yourself long enough to see your soul? Can you keep seeing yourself the same or will the mirror shatter under your shame?
Can you look in the mirror? Can you be present enough to see who you really are? Will you be able to be whole and clear and good away from the mirror?
It’s always been a path that has twisted the second I have put my foot upon what was perceived as stable earth. Especially any time I have made any proclamation of change or declarative to myself. Or anyone else for that matter. There was never really a beginning step, nor do I see the paths direction clearly now.
It has an air of taste but not fully indulge, regardless of the all you can eat buffet. It is the holding back children from the desert bar after eating all their dinner. A reminder to the senses that they are only in control of detecting deliciousness but not given the utensils to fulfill the salivation for hope and fulfillment.
Looking into the mirror has been a ritual in compartmentalism and I think I have become the pastor of preaching projection. The imagery that I am seeing in this reflection is of generic body parts and decorations on the anatomy. it’s not a clear picture, it is a bit foggy. And yet it is clearly seen as a component for an opportunity to critique my whole self, none the matter of the bold attempt to witness through another’s observation.
Moments of beauty linger still and wrap their scent stamp of importance. immersing ideas that memory and present agenda can somehow coexist. Breathing in a breath that was taken years already before and freshly adorned with a sound. This envelopment of calming acceptance has been trying to guide an old soul. The urgency of anew has been heeded. Moving into the fog has been the design all along.
in the land of coincidence this was the most generous description of happenstance. it wasn’t like it was just a casual encounter or a quick side eyed glance. it came across as poignant decision making lacking any evidence of chance.
a change was noticed and the energy fell weak. the exchange of interest softened below the peak. it became directed elsewhere and the loss was not meek. somehow fainting in persistence week by week.
an energy brewing and thickening each day creating suffocation. a knowledge among the stars shining down inappropriate provocation. and an air about it ruminating vanity, causing a personal indignation.
Tangible in the smell of something not quite right in the senses. Any attempt of clarification builds up an unnecessary display of defenses, only confirming the initial questioning of advances.
It’s a cosmic awareness of conversations employed. Communications offering disdain to the committed love joy. This Layering of perspective creating new versions of allowing a secretive ploy.
Encouragement of union and unity is on a wavering foundation. Opportunity presented daily for egoist masturbation gives a slide of hand to genuine and pure intention. castrating genuine and symbiotic connection and affection.
Gripping onto a slippery slope of ideas and projecting. Never ending the questioning with a confirmation or upfront viewing. Only hiding. Only silently replying. Only giving all into something that is mystifying.
Where am I when I am searching inside? Can anyone still see me or is it a matter of mental seek and hide. I feel faded and not fully alive. I feel jaded like it’s difficult to contrive.
I sink deep into what I don’t want to feel and relinquish my hope. I splash about in the shallow end and desperately request a rope. My hands flail about and my effort is choked. Back to the bottom of the waters, my view comes from a fogged over scope.
In an awkward silence my thoughts begin to escape. They string together in an unnatural fray. I begin screaming inwardly for something important to say and I’m never quite sure if the words come together the right way.
Until it comes I will sit in my wonder. Until it is impressed and permeated I will mentally and verbally flounder. Will I know when it has arrived or will I hold it in front of me and ponder? Will I keep it at arms length or even a distance further and longer?
And then I realized, I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between those others and myself. See at first I thought I was less than them. I thought that I was nowhere near the bar they had set. I don’t have those skills. I don’t have that body. I don’t have that status. There is no way that I could ever be that.
And then I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between how you see them and how you see me. See at first, I thought I was more than them. I thought that I must have set the bar higher. I have admirable skills. I have a body that you crave. I have an aura about my status. There is no way they could ever be like me.
And then I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that perhaps there was no differentiation between the lust for those and the accessibilty to me. See at first I thought that I was chosen over them, but maybe I was just settled for. I have some more than excellent skills that make you shake, but maybe if they gave the time, youd exprience the same from them. I have a body that when your eyes are closed, you slip into as though maybe it is one of them you are thinking about. I have a status that says I want love and will take it if it seems as though maybe you want to love me, because they are taken or live too far away. There is no way that you would pass up on them because they are much more than me.
And then I realized that maybe I am just a pretty girl.
dangling, it has its own feet, sweeping me off into a delusionary suite. a room full of choices to which my hopes cannot compete. treading, it steps along the lines given to follow, tiptoeing softly among the path that is inevitibly hollow and hard to stand beyond the shallow end. grasping, it is losing its grounding, the directional chaos is compounding. the navigation of what direction to trust is a confounding compass.
pleasant, the satisfaction attained, when accomplishing a goal acclaimed, set out and in reach it is ascertained perhaps even easily. joyous, it is high in elation shaking hands with rejoicing conversation and communicating through proficient verbalization leaving no flaws of meaning. What is said is what is heard and the over analyzing is no longer a paralyzing part of the deciphering agony over words, I pass the test.
Dropping, a rope that hangs selflessly awaiting for the next useful demand. Swinging into the weather and pulling away from its tethered command. Offering an anchor to let away the experience of expectation with one hold in fear and the other in glorification. Gripping the idealistic approach knowing that it is just a fast paced reach of hopes reproach and slipping under the conditioning that was supposed to be a decision. Knowing that whichever way, letting go or reaching higher the result is an unwanted mess.
Playing, as if choices were really choices. Speaking as if those choices were given voices that were heard and submerged in the acts and actions of applicable life situations. Listening, yet desiring the change of station where what is absorbed through the delivery of chords doesn’t take over stimulation. Betting against the odds that it will end up in a win, fighting the urge to give away the cards that were given, and being asked to play or to pass…
Is it already this day, two days before the day after tomorrow… another one of those days harrowing of sorrow… reflecting back and I recollect the beginning of the hollow.
The tunnel had been dug, been digging since the sunset dimmed, removing the foundation making flooring bend… impossible to stay stable, unable with the ground sinking in.
The reality starts to halt, the words just months before delivered, unfaltering unwavering no tremble or quiver… are no longer sourced as Love from who they were whispered.
I’ve been here before, the cycle starts turning and hits a kink in the chain… so much is familiar and yet it has an equivocal exchange … it was all raised and laid out with no grasp to remain.
It is already this day, the day before the day that comes after tomorrow… the proclamation set and yet now blame follows… such a sad reflection of the projection, once again, wilted by sorrow.
im processing …. and realizing there is a pulsing in the brain that is now abscessing, and simultaneously fracturing the essence of structure, …. breaking down all the zoning and the breakage causes a puncture, the very core of stabilization… the shaking of the foundation created the shattering of the perfect reflection… only seen in the mirror of self preservation…. preserving the perverse and twisted of versions, the self visualized identity, … as the remnants lay at the floor of our souls debris… the destruction occurs naturally…. only chaos comes from the natural being while intentionally, reaching for the metaphysically, observed, and released, for the physical attendee to record visually… purposefully arising from the ashes with intent and poise, silencing the piercing shrieks that explode from internal noise….. with louder and more quiet, with peace and partaking of personal riot, the duality sits in one seat but has a co pilot… flying this aviation device in natures glorious defiance, navigationally pleading for direction or guidance …..while holding out for the results of this test, the years of experience are the only reliance….. relying on the self, based on what was once true, only leaves making the fool make a fool , the fool sets the new standard of what not to do, raises the bar of what to make sure to do, ensure the new place in the opportunists new dormitory, a broken improvisation of “new” in an old story, a horror story, where peace is misplaced and love is brutal and gory, engorged, in self servitude and division of self sustainment…. watching the self try to rebuild within itself is devastating entertainment…. without the leading of the game of blame, it seeks its own demise… falling further into the fiery path no longer disguised, and once again, out of the ashes with a smile, the soul will rise
At a steadfast pace in this existential race, I’m ever wandering on a path that steadily, is being erased.. I jog along trying to keep next to my mate, but that map is quickly being misplaced. It’s in the plan to exacerbate, forget to mediate and just begin to elaborate like my ears are a fresh slate.
I’m needing to medicate and replate this dish thats been served at my table. The one that has a misleading label. It comes with a menu that is written in fables. Words so smoothly ejected that they make your understanding feel disabled.
Without the able.
Locked in a stable and stuffed in a cradle to be kept at bay, while all the nay sayers neigh, and display the inability to articulate the right thing to say. It all comes out in disarray.
Today. Not today. Someday. Some way.
Weighing the past to the future while missing the present, the reality being filtered by resent. The distance growing rapidly by coupled dissent.
I indent my paragraphs to acknowledge priority of speech. I use this avenue to release.
I am incarcerated by your freedom of speech, and the twisted justice has my faith impeached. My body beached. Floundering in the chaos and fleek. Flock, forgoing the family flight. Standing still while watching lies pass me by, reeling from plight or a lack thereof. If there was pride from the guide, there would have been love.
my head inside, it twitches it glitches
it tosses and turns and it becomes its own snitcher
it tells on me and what not to do
it shows me that i am a fool
proof in my existence in my every day being
that what i do is i walk around and i really am never seeing
i can’t feel i can’t touch i can’t taste i can’t smell
wondering why i am here, is this my own personal hell
everyday strapped with my own set of chains
packing and unpacking
filling and unfilling drains
draining myself as low as i will go
not enough for a siphon
to suck up
so i blow
it all over the world for everyone to “enjoy”
where my life becomes a game like their own personal toy
we watch it and we play with it and we let it unfold
we fold it back up
and we make it our own into our own mold
we become artists
casting ceramic casts
hoping that we come back through the pain of our pasts
and i say that with multiples
and multiple eases
because of all the lives that i have lived
none of them have brought pleasing
andi it’s all thank yous and pleases
and no thank yous and jesus
why did i get to this place where i am at
where my life and my soul has become your welcoming mat
welcome no more
i took the mat out
threw it over the fence, fact
because of the cat with its rat
ripping the head off and throwing it down
for me to walk upon when i come back to town
so metaphorically, it is real what i say
what i tell you right now in this very day
that it is going quite fine
even though i’m quite split
and some days, most, i really feel like shit