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
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,