The Mirror
Why is it that every time I look in the mirror,
I see someone different?
I know it’s essentially me on the other side,
but I can’t help but think
that I’ve changed.
What’s even stranger is that
I can’t monitor this change.
I can’t tell if I’ve progressed, recessed,
gone up, down, left, or right,
sideways, front ways, back ways,
long ways, short ways
high ways, low ways,
good ways, or bad ways.
All I know is that I’m different.
When I look at my hair,
I can’t help but think
that it’s supposed to be like it is.
If it’s messy, is it because I didn’t comb it,
or is it because I just haven’t had time
to fix it from working all the time
and trying to make ends meet?
If it’s decent, is it because
I combed it well enough to hold,
or am I trying too hard to give the impression that
nothing’s wrong
and I have no worries in my life,
when during such time I couldn’t be more anxious
over nothing?
I consider my eyebrows.
Are they up in excitement?
Are they up in worry?
Are they down in sadness?
Are they down in determination?
I DON’T KNOW!
All I know is that I still have them.
Sometimes, I look into my eyes,
almost staring indefinitely
at the green/hazel ambience
that surrounds the black abyss.
It’s an introverted sunburst
with rays shooting from and in every direction
and leading to an inner zero-point.
Does this symbolize me?
Am I so colorful and full of life on the outside
and nothing but a starless night-hole on the inside?
Sometimes I feel like it,
but I know better.
Stars make the night come alive;
the darkness makes the light so much more beautiful.
Every time I look in the mirror,
I think of where I’ve been and where I’m going,
but nothing matters more than
where I am.
The past and the future are relative
to my absolute presence.
All background behind me
and all foresight in front of me
ALL
depend on the what I see in the mirror,
NOW,
and I’m not about to let that down.
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