A Reflections Reflection

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall. Who the hell are YOU?

Reflective eyes stare back blankly, black tunnels of nothingness. Pure

darkness really. Little to be found in the isle of the forgotten,

of the lost and broken heavy-hearted. Home to those who unknowingly had to steal life

from others lips, misbelieving their heart was beating on their own;

copycats of those whose story has already been or is being told.

That’s where you stand, that’s where I find you.

Your body retreats and shivers in the cold but you try to stand tall

in the shadows of those around you. Your dreams and ambitions are each a different

color in different handwritings, each pasted from mind journals

of different kinds with different lines that aren’t yours.

No, not yours but mine. I was pushed into the flames, molded and formed

into who I am today. You willingly walked in and decided to stay,

built residency to see what form you would take, but now look at you.

You have burnt to crisp your outer-lining, your soul, and your deepest thoughts.

The flames are long gone and you are left,

ash and residue of what could have, should have, and would have. Your cinder blows in the wind,

staining the air with misery and streaks of dismay, with scars

from wounds that weren’t yours in the first place. One by one, piece by piece,

the dust settles to reveal what exactly underneath?

I used to look in the mirror and see myself

but then it was you who I would find starring back.

You had taken the best of me and claimed it as your own.

Now I look, after years of tears and conquering fears, I see my reflection once more.

I am more than what can be seen and refuse to take the back seat

in the land of originals and copies.

The mirror shows me a future and hopes and dreams

but when you stare at the looking glass what exactly do you see?

Who are you? You’ve lost your face and now you’ve lost mine too.

When people ask you who you are, you stand there

slightly dazed and slightly confused because your inner self,

the one that’s scared to come to the light, is busy

looking through your collection of masks and names and has forgotten how to stay out of sight.

The walls of thought are caving

and you don’t know what to think because the copy machine is jammed

and there’s no more ink. You’re frantic now, it starts to sink in,

the time has come to be you but you’ve lost yourself in the jungle

of post-its and filing cabinets of who you wish you could be.

Copies are easy to erase, all you have to do is press delete.

Find yourself, before it’s too late. To my dearest copycat reflection,

find your reflection before…

the mirror breaks.