Mirrors

Not a mirror in the room, yet I see myself decay.

Tolerating this no longer, yet I have not much to say! 

Now’s the last chance I have before shattering

Around me all the mirrors reality’s erecting.

The shards of mirror; hundreds of reflections

Unveil many dreamy reflections.

Into an icy abyss no more!

Emotionally frigid I am and so sore.

The ground beneath this schizophrenic no deeper

than those who’ve shamed me, for I am beleaguered,

And I alone shame myself.

Self-shame relieves oneself.

If I could, I would brush away all the shards,

So, I can’t see myself charred.

I truly am disordered,

I used to stand in any corner.

Those narrow-minded may bow down to the purist

and be ‘ordinary,’ but that’s just Ludacris!

Each shard was an eye looking at me,

some of them shut their eye,

It’s painful despite the breaks from the real world

not just by retreating into my own world.

How else do I confess these strange happenings within my mind?

To me they’re not so strange inside,

Yet they hold no ground beyond reality’s threshold.

And beyond that I might as well wear a blindfold.

Cold, dark and bare it is beyond.

Frozen my lips in realism, they will not respond.

To live,

I need for myself to live.

And to build that inner strength you see, 

my foot needs to start easing through the bubble surrounding me.

Swelling at the persistence of my foot

The bubble will burst, stepping into the ordinary world, in a suffocating rebirth. 

I barely sing in the constricted womb of reality,

Where I swim in a realist’s black sea.

Then a tear will glissade down my cheek

as I see all the familiar faces around watching me grow weak.

I was born this way,

I can’t change in anyway.