Cracked

fine lines sketched into my mirror how did they get there? weathering the decades, furrowed brow, creased eyes with bags am i an old bag - nonsense. the mirror crack'd with an angry whiplash i had to take a look at my life, evaluate, extenuate my outlook. hope for this old hag - that kind of self talk for the birds. bright city lights, broadway trimmed my mirror looking extravagant, even with its pits, spots, wrinkles of time better lived than alone am i a crackpot? If i am i’m sipping from a loving cup grateful for the full ride i abide in the faithful arms of Jesus Christ his mirror was treacherous, scarred his countenance was cracked so much so that he was unidentifiable except for the blood that loved that exuded pure love if i’m proud, my self is humbled i’ll take those tracks - there is traction in suffering and giving back to my fellow man lightly i cover up those wrinkles only to blend this well-lived face i face my reflection, satisfied without indiscretion’s distraction 3/10/2023 Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco