The curve of ache, where matter meets its seams, this is where I reside. The arc of the lonely and rejected. I yank fistfuls of my hair and stare at my reflection in this thing that is supposed to tell me something, show me—who I am. Or at least what others see. What if, the curve is too concave to conceal the point of despair. My reflection shows me nothing, tells me even less. I’ve buried smiles in my bourbon and hold stories upon my flesh. I look, one eye squinted, and then the other—shut. But nothing still. Just non-reflective glass, an empty image and an afterthought.
my toes are bare
the mirror broke
The October Poetry Journey continues… #OctPoWriMo
Today is Day 3 of OctPoWriMo join me, 31 poems in 31 days. Do you dabble in word play as well? Let’s create 31 in 31!
Love and Ink,