Honest Reflection

Tue, 04/05/2016 - 23:41 -- medusa

She is bent impossibly,

her wits have no end.

But there's no muck in her teeth

or alcohol in her breath.

 

There's a glint in her eye,

questions drip

off the tip

of a sharp, tongue.

 

They all begin with "Why?-"

 

You could have all the right answers

And she'll still say "oh well"

She'll jump off the bridge anyway

Just because, "Hell,

Why not?"

 

There was no rush

for her the days weren't enough.

She soaks in the sun

before it leaves

And embraces the moon

because she believes

in crazy things.

Loves the feeling,

of chaos and order

all at the same time.

 

They might say 

she has a disorder.

But she just lives life in rhymes,

And a very,      off,      beat rhythm

They listen for patterns

but still get lost.

Never able

to comprehend her.

 

Destructive, yet together.

She's beautiful and frustrating.

Just like the West Coast weather.

Tempestuous, yes that's her.

 

And like a storm

She 's never able

to say goodbye

to things she loves

or things she wishes to know.

Not until it's been undone.

 

This is she,

On the other side of this mirror.

And she and I used to

love to say goodbye

But is it terrible to say,

that we struggle to exchange

that word now

Her and I.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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