A crack in perfect glass, reminders not to look at the ghost staring back at me, for fear of what i’ll see, nothing in that image ever pleases me. A tranquil light, dimmed through daybreak into night and captured by the world outside, it resonates my pain, my life and shatters glass with broken smiles.
Sunday cello’s, music makes its bow into a turning age, a fearless rapture bends its way from heaven to my stage. Rhythm’s that define the moods that soon replace, the leather in my deepest heart with lace. A skin so soft measured in this light, by densely fragmented eyelids, falling apart and creaking, flaming retina’s are bleeding, a tear of blood trickles from a face of waste and floating to the tiles, to dry in short embrace.
See nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, exist within myself a soul so worthless. Liberation by the cause of causes, strained and anxious, seekers spread language to my life, the vanquished. Free from thought, free from daily hate, free from covering up my sad mistakes. No darkness, no light, a simple constant state of just alive.
A shell that breeds its own unique taste, on humanic mass of good looks, love and race, a mirror cracked and broken by my face, i’d dearly take you outside for one day, and kiss the wall that smashed you into death, my hands still love my heart enough to act.
This is a poem about the moments in my past when i felt a kind of disgust at how i looked. In youth everyone has insecurities about how they look and hate the way they just want to look like someone else, anyone but themselves. For a long time i hated how i looked and could barely look at myself in the mirror but of course now that i am older and wiser i understand now that everyone no matter how they look should be appreciated for who they are and loved for how they are.
Poetry And Daily Scramblings 