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Jessie Jan 2011
She first met the mirror when she was
about four and a half years old,
strutting around in Mommy's heels and pearls,
wanting to grow up just like Mama:
beautiful and
strong, intelligent, and
successful. She was
young, sweet and pretty,
dancing the years away
without a care.

Mother always taught her how to behave like a lady:
manipulate manipulation
ever so sweetly-
so gently-
so secretly-
discretely-
and smile.
Never cry unless you are
alone.


You must work hard to be happy,
and happiness isn't free.
(And remember happiness
can be taken away from you,
but don't let it look like it can, because
that's how you beat it.)

Always look in the mirror
to see  what everyone else can see.

Never feel sorry for yourself.

Lola was a clever, and rebellious girl,
politely mischievous, and prettily spoiled.
She learned to **** with
kindness, to
be so sweet it made her sick to her own stomach
and she simply wanted to run to the bathroom
and ***** all the undeserved
praise and adoration.

But, she soaked it all
up like a sponge, primping herself in front
of the mirror
every day.

And as she grew, the mirror stood there,
with years of little dresses, and mother's
jewelry, and cute new tights every Christmas
prancing across the glass; epitome of
a child: selfish, heartless,
innocent, sweet.

Mistakes could not be made,
and if they were,
they weren't mistakes.
She always painted over her sins like ornaments on a tree;
add a little glitter here, a little paint there,
and every thing will be
alright for everyone
to see.
Just smile, Lola, darling,
and breathe.
(Breathe.)

She is a classic and tragic beauty,
this Lola. One day,
she came to a realization
that shattered her mind.

She stood in front of the mirror
and as she looked, she found she could not
recognize the girl inside.

The girl in the mirror was all grown up, and
could be anyone she wanted to be. Except,
the girl in the mirror didn't look
like Lola, or sound
like Lola,  or do the things
Lola liked to do.

The girl looked happy there, in her pretty clothes,
her sparkling smile,
her polished shoes, but

Lola stood before the mirror
confused because she couldn't see herself.

Lola wanted to see herself.

She looked behind the mirror.
She discovered
that the mirror was different on both
sides.

One side was reflective,
and the other
was see-through.
But the side that was see-through were rose-tinted,
and made everything shimmer
and glow.

"Oh **** it,"
said Lola in a drunk rage one day,
and she punched the mirror
And watched it fall to the floor.

To hell with it, she thought, and picked up
the pieces of her shattered reflection,
and made herself a mask.
She glued them all
together, in the shape of her face, so that it
would fit only her.

She learned to like how the world looked
with rose colored lenses, and she supposed that
would have to do.

She wakes up each day, with a cup of coffee and,
a cigarette, putting on her make-up, her jewelry,
her mirrored mask--
like a a barbed wire fence
wrapped in silk ribbons.

Everyone smiles at her,
and she smiles too.

She can only see the the beauty
in everything she sees, and all eyes that look at her
can only see the beauty in themselves.

Lola keeps her mask a secret, so that everyone will
smile.

She doesn't mind that she's
invisible now.
The world smiles at her,
and she's free behind her mask.

Everything is okay now,
except

Lola regrets never asking the girl in the mirror
Who she was.
Joseph S Pete Apr 2017
Topolobampo, Xoco, Xoco River North,
Frontera Grill, Frontera Fresco, Fonda Frontera,
Tortas Frontera, Frontera Cocina,
Lena Brava, Cruz Blanca,
Red O.

PBS specials, Michelin stars and public cooking demos
be ******,
that's too many, right?

Load up your guac with all the pork belly and pepitas
you want.
Star in a self-indulgent Lookingglass Theatre play.
Soak up the accolades of being a culinary genius
more than a Jalisco-style slow-braised goat
sits in its own juices.
But hey man, come on,
give us a break.
pink clouds of cherry-blossoms float within a sky of green
as if I've misinterpreted the frequencies of light
as sweet a harbinger of Spring as any I have seen
a Through the LookingGlass effect that some say can't be right
convention links one spectral band to one specific word
but other languages define a wholly diff'rent map
my expectation that you'll understand must seem absurd
between two minds, I can't presume to ever bridge the gap
yet still, I feel compelled to share this vernal scene with you
and trust your inner lexicon to correspond to mine
a vision of such loveliness I must believe is true
what can't be proved deductively must hint at the divine
a sky of green, a cloud of pink, on earth as up above
a poet's faculties deranged when seasons turn to love
http://mobilesonnets.blogspot.com/search/label/language

— The End —