My relationship with mirrors is strained.
When I look I usually see what's probably
myself. I look better, probably, than before
when I slept no more than
3 hours every night
and spluttered through life
choking on words and stumbling over
misconceptions.
Now all of that is merely a buzz
trampled by a maximum dosage of meds
that let me function in life
but make everything a bit numb.
I much prefer numbness to personal nihilism.
Other times when I look in the mirror I
don't see much of anything.
When I'm in public and
the innocent looming presence of others
threatens my mind's fragile ego,
I see them abstracted in my periphery,
their glinting knives of eyes
sparing me a passing glance
(She's just smiling politely,
but my skewed eyes glimpse
faux teeth and behind them gargled, ****** judgements. I don't judge the digust.)
and I skim over a transparency
of myself in the mirror.
Too bad I can't actually disappear.
(Or maybe I can.
But I try to stray a little farther from those thoughts.)
Sometimes I feel heartbreakingly
ugly in that mirror. Lonely. Unwanted.
Even with all those doting eyes on me.
I feel relied upon for something. To be
the one who makes them laugh. The one
who fills the silence. The one
who works hard even with setbacks.
(Do they even expect that of me? Or do I?)
When
in reality
I'm none of those things.
Not truly. Not really.
Theres always that tug of opposition in me,
that feeling of ingenuity, a touch of facade.
But I don't want them to see an ugly side.
The side that mistrusts violently,
that lies stagnant with thoughts screaming.
Clamming up in the face of oppressing quiet.
The side
that rears its head when
they look a little too close.
Maybe it's my truest self, that broken side.
I wouldn't know. There
are too many walls. I can't even break them
myself.
Or maybe I've broken them all,
but I'm blindfolded,
feeling around an abyss with my eyes
wide open,
vision obscured by skin-tight fabric.
I could just,
untie that knot behind my head,
spiral further and further down--
just to feel something else--
But it's safer in this uneasy emotion.
I dont know if I'll ever find myself in
the mirror again.

The feeling of the
Pit of your stomach
Is uneasy
The feeling of hesitation
This is not pleasant
It makes you not think straight
You feel trapped inside
With your feelings
You want to
Speak your mind
But you are a loss for words
This feeling is powerful
But at the same time
It can be just as scary
It’s impossible to think that
Everyone has felt this
At one point in their life
The feeling of anxiousness
About the unknown
And the unexpected

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.
Your honour.
Play the evidence”

The sound of a projector whirrs
As wind in a snail shell.
TAKE ONE.
REPLAY.

“The defendant knew the man,
Had talked to him on train stations,
But kept it as hidden as a brief encounter.
He knew this man liked that band,
Not liked, loved,
And the defendant had a whole playlist to recommend and a whole compilation of
Critical readings on Post-Britpop to articulate.
However!
the defendant being
Slow and mollusc minded.
He kept his oyster shut.
SLOW THE FILM!...”

The whirring whizzes to ticking,
As nagging as potentially productive hours.

“Slowing the footage,
we can see
That his mouth even hesitantly gaped for a second.
Not one of his greatest hits was it?”

Ha,
I think,
No need to punish me.
I do that deed upon myself.
My pen scribbling, clicking,
Ticking,
Whirring,
In my head at night,
With conversations I never had.

I remember all of  your favorite things
like the way you love a certain snack
And even though I'm going different places in life
I'll always remember the way you held my hand
how i almost wanted to kiss you in that moment
but how does one confess
that I wanna be your first kiss
the words were on the tip of my tongue
almost said the words
but when the opportunity arose
suddenly I froze up
looking into your hazel eyes

Is it possible to wanna get married without ever meeting in real life? Especially if you have never even met their family or friends. Could it work or will this seemingly endless love eventually run out? What if the two lovers come from completely different backgrounds. Would this enticing marriage last? I've always wondered and now I'm searching for answers. I just want to be happy but maybe this is too much to ask.

Attentive eyes
    and nervous jitter,
trembling hearts
await their fate

barbaric practice
of modern acceptation
fear is faced
  in university fashion

Navy blue professor,
    of conductor hands

I failed yesterday.
But that doesn’t matter, ‘cause I fail everyday.
When I ***** up a presentation.
It brings about a new sensation.
One of hatred and self-doubt.

My brain’s suffering a drought.
A lack of motivation.
Little information. Too many interpretations.
How can I function when I can’t think straight?
Too many variables. The consequences too great.

That’s why I do nothing.
Instead of presenting, I’m running.
Far, far away from everyone.
To a place where there’s no one. Anyone.
But me and my mind.

I’ve let people down.
My family, my friends. Their faces have frowns.
I’m such a *****-up. I want to disappear.
I’m just tired of all these stupid fears.
I turn around. Try to go back. But I hit a wall.
Instead of improving, I fall.
Back into old habits.
It’s like playing a game. Playing gambits.

I stand up there. On stage.
My heart is pounding. An internal rage.
Thoughts are swirling inside my head.
All I want now is to go to bed.
No, no! I won’t accept defeat.
I’ve come too far just to fall and taste concrete.
So, even if it’s terrible, even if nobody hears me.
I’m going to try, and that’s what it’s gonna be.
‘Cause I think in the end, trying something will be my savior.
Instead of simply relapsing into failure.

Does that make it unjust.
That I not share every detail that bursts open inside me.
Every time I hear your name.
Every time that I think about you.
I admit that it comes as unjust.
That it's an unhealthy habit as eventually it has nowhere else to go.
But instead to suffocate everything that it touches.
These butterflies that I keep locked up.
This love that I keep inside.
It fills up inside of me and I fear that if I speak
Everything will ooze on out.
And these butterflies will fly away with no intention of coming back.
The original packaging will have no other use.
But to sit and wait to be filled again.
Unjustly sitting idle with nothing to be filled.
Does that truly make it unjust.
That the most beautiful things are mostly kept hidden in fear.
But before you speak.
What seems as unjust and upright obnoxious is in fact a means to grow.
To flourish into one of the most beautiful things yet spoken.
That what comes off as fear, as a sudden means to withdraw myself
Actually serves as a means to love you deeper than perhaps
what our current environment would allow.
To keep these things that no one else would never know.
And share them with you when the time is right.
In truth you are the most beautiful thing thats perhaps kept me in check.
That without you I would further have no reason to acknowledge
These butterflies that I keep locked away.
Because the most beautiful things in life are destroyed by which
Are not understood.