I see myself
for the first time
looking into the mirror
that adorns the space
above my bathroom
counter-top
and up to
the ceiling

I look beautiful
yet
tragic

there in my boxers,
holding a bottle of
something in my
hand, and having
this look in my eyes
as if to say, “this
is all there is to
me”

although my stance,
and my face, and my
eyes, and fingers, and
toes all scream that I am
dying in my mind and
in my heart; my mouth
breaks apart and smiles
in a way that only the
purest of children know

what does that smile mean?

is it that small glimmer of
hope I have left, the tiny
light at the end of tunnel?

or is it my ignorance, my
stubborn will, my hard-
headed optimism that will
be bested in the end?

or is it just a smile, true and
pure, from looking at me in this
full-length mirror?

I am the colliding border of
the two storm fronts known
as logic and passion and to
make matters worse a twister
of sudden boredom has shot
up to make things all the more
difficult

I see myself in this mirror
stripped down to my under-
pants and yet I still can’t
see anything that’s really
inside

each day I must step up
to this mirror and look
into it

each day you will have
to step up too

in my mirror,
I see something beautiful
yet tragic,
in a way very few will ever
understand

in your mirror,
I do not know what you
see
but I hope you see some-
thing
and my hope is that you
can be happy with what
it is