My past is too much of an influence on my present,
I know it's a problem.
But whenever I look in the bathroom mirror,
I see my 15 year old self,
A cigarette hanging out of her mouth
Just like the one that is currently in my mouth.
Her hair is still dyed dark purple and out of control,
Spiking out of her head
Like she just stuck her finger in a light socket.
She takes the cigarette out of her mouth
And smoke clouds up the mirror.
I watch her hand reach up through the smoke
Into the real world and take my cigarette
Out of my mouth and toss it in the trash.
I can't decide whether I've gone completely crazy
Or if that encounter was the
Best thing that ever happened to me.
Why can't it be both?
I decided to try an exercise where I looked at a painting and then wrote a poem about it, and this is what came out of it. Let me know what meaning you find in it. :)