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ZoetropePoems
I broke a mirror, when we first met. Our guilty reflections fragmented as we stared into the shards. Barely a decade old, but in my eyes you’d never be a perfect ten. Back then you were A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying boy, A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying friend. Two years passed then we were split apart. Like crevices between reflective pieces. Another five and I saw You. In a mirror now fixed. Your reflection the same, different. Seven years. Spent growing up apart. Yet growing closer. Now when you grab me, my hair. I scream for the right reasons . And holding hands isn’t just for arm wrestling. Shards of bad luck are swept up into a metaphorical dustbin.
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Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
Ten to Seventeen
I broke a mirror, when we first met. Our guilty reflections fragmented as we stared into the shards. Barely a decade old, but in my eyes you’d never be a perfect ten. Back then you were A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying boy, A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying friend. Two years passed then we were split apart. Like crevices between reflective pieces. Another five and I saw You. In a mirror now fixed. Your reflection the same, different. Seven years. Spent growing up apart. Yet growing closer. Now when you grab me, my hair. I scream for the right reasons . And holding hands isn’t just for arm wrestling. Shards of bad luck are swept up into a metaphorical dustbin.
Written by
Zoetrope
17/F/UK
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
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