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s Mar 2015
Mirrors
Shattering myself into pieces
Sharp edges pointing out all the flaws
I stare at the glassy eyes
I don't know if they are mine
The reflections rip me open
making all of the imperfections
seep through the paper skin
Outlining me in red
Tracing what to fix
Tears bleed through my surface
Stinging my insides
I want this to end
The mirror is killing me.
What's in the mirror is killing me
So I guess I'm killing myself.

{SM}
Dreamer May 2014
Age,
Has tall tales
that the mirror so precisely reveals
Reminding us
of the things we’ve done
the people we loved

When I look into the mirror,
I somehow
still see my childhood self
that carefree little girl
who painted the skies blue
and didn’t have to worry
about eating that last piece of chocolate
The kid who sat
in the very back of the class,
her head
swimming with thoughts
that could never be true.

I walked alone,
among a whole ’nother world
that belonged of my own.

I sat at my desk,
eyes staring out blankly with
one hand under my chin,
and was soon lost in
a sea of my own imagination.

My innocence was palpable,
evident in every move;
all I thought about was the marvels
of the wondrous possibilities.
A tall chair that
manifested out of thin air,
I kindly took a seat
and surveyed everything
that traversed across keen eyes.
The world beamed
radiantly upon me
and everybody would be aware of my sumptuous world.
I was that kid
who returned shy whispers and smiles
from across classroom aisles

Now i sit across from you
because I don’t recognize my reflection
all I see is a product of
society’s deception
and wonder,

you’ve changed.

Time
never seemed to understand
that fleeting moments still
gather in the end
and the only regret is having regrets

I have no words to further explain
how absurd life is
how funny time is

who are we, to imagine ourselves
as being so high and mighty
when it is the
children so small
who can see thousands of things
men can’t see at all

so I smile,
a genuine, happy smile.
because

Because nothing has changed
yet everything
has changed.
Francie Lynch Feb 2015
There are mirrors
In all our rooms,
Passing them
Without a glance
Isn't vanity,
Isn't chance.
It's inherent in our genes,
The look is more
Than what it seems.
A survival tactic
Of our kind,
To lock our faces
In our minds.
Babies do it,
They're entranced,
The first step
Of the mirror dance.

So, I stopped,
I stared
At my glassy eye;
There I was,
Like an ambered fly
Trapped in the pupil
Of my eye.
Am I
Self-centred,
Narcissistic,
Self-absorbed,
Ego-centric:
Is it conceit,
Or human pride?
Self-doubt chides
My prying eye.

Past the disguise,
I realize,
My baby browns
Have waxed wise,
My outlook's changed
Behind those eyes.
Peter Davies Feb 2015
Little Miss Mirror Eyes
Danced all alone
To a music none other could hear.
For no one came close
To Miss Mirror Eyes Joan
And the terror her two eyes drew near.

Some people would say
You could see how you die
In the looking-glass pools of her gaze,
Others said the truth
Of your soul lies in the eye;
If you sinned she would set you ablaze.

But Miss Mirror Eyes
Didn't mean none no harm
And the globes in her skull weren't bad.
But because she could see
And laid truth on her arm
She never, at no one, was mad.
R K Hodge Feb 2015
There was a time when you and I had not seen ourselves in mirrors
Before we knew what we looked like
Before we knew how we feel at all
A time before I knew how my body would work
Most months rusty water drains
A packet of small white circular tablets coated in sugar is responsible for my happiness
I imagine my ****** is the colour of a faded flannel cloth
Red used to be my favourite colour
On many occasions My body has felt like a new years resolution.

Your sweat reminded me of rainbows in petrol
It tasted like the sea.
melina padron Dec 2014
your name rings so loudly
in my mind
that i cannot hear anything else

your touch was like a
roundhouse kick to my brain
short circuiting everything inside

your love was like a glacial age
your cold nature
****** everything in dry

your departure was like a nightmare
one where time is elapsed
and you don’t remember my name -

you don’t like me like that.
Bobbie Bachelor Dec 2014
Walking through a valley
A shadow
Of red
We see what is before us
We see inside our dreams

The white light comes
Then the second white light
Then the infinite

Then we just stand there
Dead inside

But we're still alive

As we close our eyes
We remember each tear
No longer do we fear

The crimson mirror

shattered on the ground...

Luck never finished the journey
Moving on
Sobia Azam Dec 2014
Can I hide
from my fears?
Can I hide
from these mirrors?
My soul in pain.
My pride in agony.
Scarred, shattered
I cry, I cry.
Jennifer Weiss Nov 2014
A brush to stroke
my oil paints,
layer upon layer
of saturated color

it never dries,
for I never wait.
because art is never finished!
...
and maybe that isn't true,
I just know *my own
accounts of
what I go through:
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
I never seem to get the product
to match the painting inside my head.

I keep painting...
keep stroking,
long after everyone I know
might as well be dead.
I try to force my vision out of my head.
But it is so perfect
and the canvas hardly yields
a picture that is worth it,
*so I paint words and sounds instead.
I see myself now,
I'm not a perfectionist as I was always labeled.
I believe it's that thing OCD people are always talking about.
I just have to do it over and over and eventually ruin the painting I tried to perfect.
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