The mirror lies,
I swear it,
It’s very sheen rippling with deceit,
Or perhaps malice,
It insults me with that foul image,
A reflection of some miscreation,
Is that who I am?
That creature,
Are those my eyes?
Those unfeeling oculi,
But I foolishly believed myself a man,
A higher primate,
A lie like a million glass shards,
Bad luck for a lifetime,
Denying my own monstrosity,
A crisis of the very self,
Carrying oneself as a somebody,
While being a nothing of a ghoul.

Comments
  1. Well penned. A philosophical appeal to the mirror… who am I. Waiting for a reply… nice job as always.

  2. Carol anne says:

    Hugs, a great poem! ❤

  3. Cassa Bassa says:

    May truth finds its way into your spirit.

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