The mirror speaks to me

even from over here

a whisper, it says…


it glares, and taunts, and smirks

“your hair is shiny.”

It tries to fool me with a compliment
but then I see—really see—all the lines
the mistakes, the tracks love left,


and so, I step back.


This is the game, we play—ugly
tired, spent, a hack with dust-dry
fingertips and a muse gutted from
my womb of content, a has-been
that never was.


And then I think, who are you?






Then, I decide I don’t particularly like
the dialogue in which we partake
In fact, I don’t like any part of it.
Constant criticism, the slice—a rusty blade

and you laugh

and so do you—

Mirror shatters bone.
My sangfroid intact,
I paint my lips red
between the shards
and regret—
has left.

© Grace Black

Poetry Month continues, and this is Day 14 of NaPoWriMo for me. Today’s prompt was to pen a dialogue poem. This is my erratic attempt.

30 poems in 30 days. Do you dabble in word play as well? Let’s create 30 in 30.

Love and Ink,



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