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Bathroom Mirrors

I have yet to find a time in day

Where my eyes turn into moons,

And quiet freckles popping up like stars

Have yet to find myself gazing in awe,

Looking at myself in the same way I would look at the sky on a clear night,

Without the nitpicking of the ongoing entropy inside my head.

That is - until the clock strikes 12

When it is neither day and neither night

When I am neither anyone or anything, just me -

As I creep through the bathroom door, secrets kept close in my arms

And only when blue eyes fade into brown,

Will I know true silence, peering into the crevice of the mirror, and there

An image of me that nobody can replicate.

I watch her with ease, more curious than calculating

Unlike what I have been taught to do

No one to tell me when to smile or when to cry.

And perhaps some days, I can only love the girl in the mirror

when it is convenient and easy,

But I know she will not blame me, and I know it well,

Knowing it is part of the many things I suppose could be wrong with me.

Yet here, I feel like a blank canvas,

so washed out I can no longer recognize myself

But I know this is as bare as I can get, as true that I can get

When you’ve sunk in too long in a simmering bath of baseless noise -

When you’ve covered yourself up in ways you have not yet figured out how to get rid of

Proud, in a tideless universe, never once wondering,

that perhaps I am simply a large pool of water

Pretending to be an ocean -

But for once, at least, it is quiet, and it is cold,

In ways I am both used and unused to,

So I scrub myself clean, staring, quietly -

And she stares back too.


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