MIRROR
9.10.20
You seem to jump from my fingers every time i try to put you down on paper
like waking up to eclipse or twilight,
not knowing if the dawn brings constellations or falling oceans.
I bet your mother feels the same way. Which reminds me, when was the last time you talked to her? You should call her.
I imagine she worries about you. And I don’t just mean your nail-polish and dresses. Although if we’re being frank, yellow is so not your color.
You’re more prism spectrum on a cloudy day. Fractal practicality reduced to humanization. Iridescent opaque. Parchment paper dipped in pastel. The aftermath of oil paint picking a fight with waterwheels.
I guess you could say I’m angry.
When you said I’d lost my madness; remember, when you chose to Pied Piper roaches, it was your sadness looking back at me. And yes, I’ll agree the hand dealt to people like us tightropes the unconventional, but we are still here. There are only two jokers in the deck.
Dear friend, I’ve climbed more than just magnolias since I saw you last. Take this as a lesson; only on my worst days I may call my soul Burden.
It’s time you stop calling yours Curse.