Shattered Reflections
Let the art speak.
Reaching through the mirror of a wounded heart
You’ll never see the pain I see not even in my own reflection
You say you’d rather play but your host has turned her back
White knuckles gripping scissors calling your round an immediate forfeit
Razored tips on fragile fingers dent the window to a passionate proclamation
Protected poses only break their promises, shielding nothing in return
Cascading locks and scars pour over the flesh and bone tablet, not yet etched
Lips masked with packing tape draped in vertical shades of veins, loose and few
No highlight reels to move the scene Time to face her, close the story, or begin anew.
Playing with the intersection of words and an artistic view breaking when self-reflection wants a fight. Fragments and phrases sometimes enter like a punch; you have a decision in how you respond to yourself.
Do We All Still Need a Pet Rock?
Say your piece with no interruptions or response needed.
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