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 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
mi
Imagine
Perfectly normal house
Perfectly normal girl
Perfectly healthy body
Chaotic mind.
Her thoughts
As loud as waves
Clashing on rocks.
Yet a voice
So quiet
Like a breeze
Through palm trees.
-d.j.
 Aug 2017 Tia Imani Rose
Grace
You walk into the mirror box and it’s like walking
into the imagery of one of your own poems.
You’re caught in the mirror maze, searching for yourself
in the mirrors at angles but all you can see is yourself,
back to back in the mirror tunnel, yourself again and again
until you can’t recognise her anymore.
Is it me? you ask and it is, but you’re still not convinced.
Is it just me in the mirror box, legs up to my chest, eyes closed
because I am horrible,
you quote, but you’re standing up.
You’re standing up in too many of your own poems, in this permanence
of your fleeting reflection which proves you are real but has become
so metaphorical that being in the mirror box makes you question
the possibility of yourself as this person who is being reflected.
But this isn’t a poem, I tell myself. I don’t live in the second person.
She tries to cast aside the metaphors for a moment to try on the clothes
but you’re stuck in the mirror box, in the nightmares of my own poetry.
I went into a changing room and it was all wall to wall mirrors, and it inspired this. I'm aware this is really self referential, but if you're interested, my poems 'The Mirror Maze' and 'Describe yourself in three words' (amongst others I haven't shared) play into this.
What does the future have in store
that I need the strength
all these trails are supposed to be giving me?

What does my character lack
that it needs these lessons?

Or am I purely being punished?

Tell me the truth
set me free.
I wish I had found in you,
all you had found in me.
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