I care too much.
I really do.
I care about
you
and her
and him
and them
I care about life.
I care so much
that I neglect myself
I neglect my wants
my needs.
I have been providing so much light for others,
that I have let my world grow dark.
I am too busy feeding other people compliments,
that I have left myself starving.
I can't decide
who matters more.
I worry about being conceded
so I discard myself completely.
I care too much

I am a makeup artist,
Hiding tears behind my masterpiece.

I can draw you smiles,
Paint you laughter,
Doodle you little dimples,
Glue glitter to your eyes.

I am a makeup artist,
don't be afraid.

I do it to myself all the time.

I don't understand. Was I born to be a mirror?
To let the world see themselves through the shards of my broken heart?
To break into smaller and smaller pieces, cutting into the fingers of anyone who tries to help.
I am mirror, hurting and hurting in a endless pool of sharp edges.

I tried to keep my head high,
Looking at the clouds and shaping them into dreams.
One was a smile, the other was love.
Yet they left me to join the sun.

I was only there to reflect its rays,
I am only here to reflect smiles and love in monotone eyes of glass.
Vanity can't light up the dark without destroying the light in someone else.
Take away my light, will you? Just drown me in your continuum of black holes.

There are four babies born every second.
Two leave. Two live.
One of them is a mirror to reflect the other.
The other shines in full glory around a sea of blue.

I was born a ******* mirror.
A piece of junk thrown at the end of a driveway when it broke.
I am a mirror sitting at the end of the curb,
awaiting for the muffled roars of a garbage truck.

I am a broken mess that weeps
in the blood of your polished red pumps.
in the rust of your pre-made punk earrings.
in the tears of your pearl necklaces.

Oh mister, oh miss,
Can you see yourself in me?
Please, don't throw me away.
I'm broken, I know, but I can fix myself.

Please mister.
Please miss.
Don't leave me. Make me feel special.
Make me feel me.

Mister?
Miss?
Didn't you hear that?

No. Please. Don't throw me away.
Give me a chance.
My shards could serve for something.
Anything. Please.

Please.

I know I'm a mirror.
But I bleed too.

a blizzard of emotions,
twisting and turning,
pulled around a roundabout,
driving into love.

you seek to change gears,
your hands tempting to steer the wheel.
the tornado of your eyes
claiming the byronic charge of your heart.

you can't press the break,
love had cut it years ago
when you had stepped into the vehicle,
spun in a cold blizzard of time.

I rub my thumb against your palm,
The lines of your veins; my maps to the glittering armor of your skin.
Your hair tickles the bareness of my neck as you trail kisses on my honeydew paper maché,
Creating your fruit bowl with the painter touch soaring in your finger tips.

I find myself on you, seeking the location of your treasure,
Sweet old passion pouncing in my bag of bones.
You create yourself in me, coloring in my freckles with the ball point of your lips.
Gentle unfurling art blossoming in your eyes.

We are bones melting into our touches,
Harmonizing in our penmanship.
We are lovers leaping through the garden,
Finding flowers to call ours.