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Hannah 2h
As I look in the mirror, what do I see?
A beautiful person looking right back at me.
Staring softly into my eyes,
wondering ever so much about how time flies.
Every night I'm thinking about you,
as I stare out my window at the view.
Those days in the past will always be treasured,
but were sadly too short to even be measured.
I'm looking back on all the good times,
remembering all that I have seen with my own two eyes.
topacio 2d
you cannot
write poetry
because
you cannot
be honest.

your words are
manufactured
from the minds
of others.

i hope to one day
see you shine
the way i know you can.

i hope you wipe the smear
from the
mirror i know you
so desperately
seeks answers from.
mirrors are used to tell you the truth within dreams
their memory goes further back than a day's length
you, the human, are dreaming of eden, an undiscovered maze
the night restlessly sells off her estranged gaze

shadows are flowing through your spinning mind
you see a child, contemplatively engaged in a game
not willing to follow any caring orders; you are glowing
as you are trying to hide yourself under a blanket of knowing

future has decayed, you have to blink, you have to smile
a century's crippled hands are grabbing at your truncated tongue
not even words, terms, speech and language remain
while rain is dripping from leaves, leaving its stain

asleep, you taste the bitter broth of your dream
the gods of the woods are coming for you, in amusement
the dog of voices is barking at his shadow; you are burping
while you hear the muzzle of your dream delightfully slurping
Today is a good day.
I laugh at old people
        out the window.

Then realise I'm looking at a mirror
Cyril 4d
Self-loathing finally came to an end,
the stranger in the mirror is now my friend
Path Humble Jul 2018
Poems on a Mirror

~for Glenn Currier~

you don’t know me
I don’t know you;
poems on a mirror I ken
truly well

poems on the mirror saved, and then,
comme the seasoning of leave-falling,
poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by
the daily heat of watery tears,
making a space for
this one, for you...

there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance,
each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless  
of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than
obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery

but some render where no rendering should be allowed

those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen,
slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost
cover complete your image from presentation

almost only because these poems are yours, you,
they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words,
indeed especially because they’re not yours

but they start your day as a poem should
and in doing so,
become you

What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors

go pick the plums...
“Glenn Currier  to Valerie Burroughs

“So true. So beautifully put. This is one I will add to Poems on my Mirror. Literally. I am going to copy and paste it or just write it on a post-it note and put on my mirror as a reminder of what poetry should be. Thank you.”
Bullet May 19
In this world of miss opportunity
I can barely sing in this atmosphere
I’m living in this world where reflections are used as fear
Im look all around till I see through these spheres
Everyone is ready to throat cut the melodies of my soul
The world revolves and evolves even through flaws
So when I’m living out my dreams I’m not going to be just sleeping
I’m all around

I’m a sphere in this atmosphere
Fear is now my melody for flying
The world filled with mirrors and I’m now dressed in tunes and dreams
My voice is now the soil of my soul
Choking up the air that once held me in horror
The devil and the lord are just passengers in my flight

In my fight with spheres and mirrors
I’m pursuing dreams and pictures
Paintings and boxing rings pump fear
Broken glass, I can see many reflections
The big picture here in the spheres and mirrors
Can’t depict the world in which we’ve all created
Malina May 20
it's so tiring,
this back and forth in my brain.

i want to be better.
i want to be content
just as i am.
i want to be able to exhale,
relax
and shut out the voices that tell me otherwise.
but they overpower me.

"my stomach looks good today",
"my legs aren't huge",
"i'm not ugly",
i try to say as my hands tell a different story.
grabbing at fat and skin,
trying to find any imperfection to prove me wrong.
and this is where the confusion starts:
looking in the mirror.

what do i look like?
how should i feel?
am i actually fat?
am i deluded to think i might not be?
i have no idea the answer to any of those questions
and millions just like them scream at me.
every minute.
every day.

if i am fat,
should i be trying to lose weight?
or should i try to accept how i look?

i try to be better,
to cope,
but i don't know which voice is right.
i don't know who to listen to.
and i'm trapped in this in between.

it's ******* exhausting so someone just tell me what to do
I needed to get these thoughts out of my head and onto a page
Bullet May 19
nothing is faced
no trap, just me reflected in it
the mirror has a painters box sealed
i’m in the boxing ring with pallets
the painting has heavy gloves waiting
dings seem like a shock wave in my mind
state

my heart now counts a lot less with a view
of
blue soul, caving in from the top
  this mirror has a hidden trap tripping
i’m starring at it as if i’m the missing piece
now the picture is shattered into myself
the portrait separated into a collage
the colors i’m boxed in with moves my
moods

I’m lost in these mirror states of mood rings
Mikey Kania May 18
i just have to deal with something
i just have to deal with something
my father would tell me as a child
then he was gone for hours

like sun in the night he had vanished
he used to go away every evening
while years were melting
and he always did the same:

my father would play the piano
my father would play the guitar
my father would sing and drink
my father would meet a woman

years were melting and i grew up
an hour here, two hours there
peng, now you're eighteen
a delinquent without a role-model

zoom, how fast time had passed by
rivers of oblivion in my father's eyes
he looked at me like looking into a mirror
he talked to me and only talked about himself

my father never really raised me
i am a lion you know, i have to be strong
feel me or not; go away or stay; be hetero or gay
nothing of it matters: i am my own daddy

fatherhood is a matter of interpretation
each father is flawless and full of flaws
my father was absent and never tried to stay
now i am a father, struggling with my demons
Today is a good day.
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