And as I stood Clothed in my shame The monster I'd created Was me Was mine And The most difficult part Was turning to the mirror Looking into my eyes And realizing There was no Jekyll There was no Hyde There was just me
There are so many things I would change/cannibalize from this poem (and I will eventually), but this is the first poem I have recorded that I wrote about the refusal of the Jekyll/Hyde stereotype.
-------"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."--------
Reflections in broken mirrors through watery eyes. Maybe it's not the mirror that's broken. If only I was able to get to the other side. I'd see tears on a red face and see pain and hurt and sadness. There's no sound on the other side. It's quiet. The mirror isn't broken and neither are any of the people there. They're all empty. They can't help us from the other side. They just watch.
There is a monster in my mirror And I don't know what to do I asked my mom to fix it But she refused There is a monster in my mirror It has been there for so long I asked my uncle to fight it But he said the monster was too strong There is a monster in my mirror It is getting bigger I asked my grandma to face it But all she did was shiver There is a monster in my mirror It is starting to get darker I asked my aunt to help me But it just pushed her farther The monster in my mirror Is the only thing that has actually stayed around So if it stays any longer I might fall to the ground
Remember so well the days of my youth so much time spent looking In a mirror messing about with my hair late going out because my hair was not looking right So much Importance placed on just my hair and now at my age 65, I shaved It all off I'm glad It's no longer there so much for the Importance of playing about with my hair
So much time wasted as a youth playing about with my hair worse than ladies with a bad hair day