The Mirror

Handheld MirrorThe face in the mirror was not entirely my own. Its shape and features were familiar, yet it was not in the same state as the night before. I studied my face and searched intently for the differences. My eyes, the only alteration, had lost the life that defined them.

The reflection of my face vanished from the mirror. My visage did not reappear as my physical features but as the embodiment of my inner demons. Savage beasts roamed on the glassy surface. Each creature had been christened with a hellish burn that marked its merciless nature. Vanity, Depression, Fear, Hopelessness, Abuse, Worthlessness, Hate, and Doubt reigned over me.

The creatures fought against the mirror that contained them. I trembled as their claws scratched the fragile barrier. With each vicious swipe, a searing cut was carved into my heart. Spidery cracks fractured and shattered the glass. The force of the mirror’s destruction tossed me to the ground. The leviathans escaped and turned into monsters whose forms were in proportion to the terror they imposed.

Unleashed, the creatures roamed freely and imprisoned me. No movement or thought wholly belonged to me. I wrestled with the hellions as I prepared for my day. But for each of my tasks, there was a behemoth to dictate my actions. If a creature devoted to leading me astray did not exist, one would appear and establish its dominion.

During a momentary reprieve, I began to repair the mirror. Each fragment tore at my hands, but I continued to place the shards in the frame. I positioned the last slice and prayed that the demons would return to their captive state.

Suddenly, the brutes shrieked, growled, and groaned. As each demon reappeared in the mirror, I experienced a pain tenfold worse than when they escaped. Being by being, they tumultuously returned. The agony that accompanied the demons was in proportion to their size and grasp upon my heart. I could not bear the pain from Doubt, the largest of the beasts, returning to captivity.

My knees buckled, and I awoke, drenched in sweat. I cowered as I hesitantly hobbled to my vanity and peered into that dreaded mirror. My countenance had returned to normal, save for my eyes. The life had abandoned them.

Would I be able to contain my demons or would their terrorization become evident to those I loved? I resolved to tame the beasts within to delay my tribulation.

I proceeded to my door and allowed one last glance at the mirror. Doubt haughtily danced within the windows to my soul. As I shuffled into the kitchen, I wondered if anyone would be able to see what was restrained just beyond the surface.

I maintained my outward appearance so that my inward being could be concealed. I prayed nightly that no one would discover the reflection I saw in the mirror. I feared for love as if the only love available to me was conditional.

Every mirror I looked into reflected a broken and shattered girl. The leviathans of my nightmares did not reveal themselves in material form; they overcame me, and I became them. Soon the mirror only reminded me of the true self that I had prevented others from catching even the slightest glance of.

Mirror Photograph

A Duck Limerick 

Hannah is a funny gal

She has a duck named Mal

He went on a plane ride

And he sadly died

So she got a duck named Sal

That little gem is unedited and straight out of my Mother’s Day writing book from fifth grade.

Although my drawing abilities plateaued in 2nd grade, I am constantly developing my writing. It’s important to keep your old work, regardless of its degree of weirdness or level of embarrassment. Steady improvement is just as important as reflection. You can’t judge your current level of proficiency without considering what you’ve improved from and the level you aspire to attain.

In addition to giving you the opportunity to appreciate your progress, old works allow you to reexamine your past through wiser eyes. Your past writing reveals your mental state and life events at the time you created the work.

The knowledge that is gained from your old, embarrassing pieces is just as important as the memories behind them.

Statue of Forsaken Ideology

image

Boats no longer pass her-
Planes boast their might from above.
Hopes and fares no longer suffice-
instead some are sacrificed.
Offered to please the beast.
Devoured-
Ensnared by
Malicious laws that doom-
hopeful, fair lives.

Her beacon continuously beckons,
but even the lucky are not spared a glimpse.

The faithful and vigilant are
not where they ought to be.
Sitting on Capitol Hill are those
scared of life and difference-
lives dedicated to fear.
“Push! Onward men!”
They want their pawns to shout-
with an M16 in hand.

Too powerful are they-
who blind themselves to
grief-stricken, hollow eyes
that yearn to gaze upon her face.

 

Statue of Liberty Photograph

The Baths of Humanity

 

We bathe ourselves in water only
to bathe ourselves in blood.
Water removes the
grit and grime of everyday life-
What do we hope to cleanse
with blood?

Will streams of blood replenish and purify
the earth and ourselves as a spring rain?
Will lakes of steaming life,
reconcile past harms and future wrongdoings?
Do we bomb and invade-
justifying offenses by stealing life?

I do not know.
I follow and do.

A Hateful Ode

 

You are a magnificent beast-
A true terror-
A commanding, demanding force

You are a natural tendency-
A destructive instinct-
A permeating, disintegrating feeling

You cross boundaries-
Culture-nation-race-income
They have no effect on you
You do not stop at these-
You infest them

You are a disease-
Our undying love is taken-
A monster formed
Some power respected yet rejected

Why do we honor you?
Immortalizing you with
Rape-Bombs-Swords-Planes-Armies-Words-
We construct monuments of bones

Rape, where do you stop?
Bombs, where do you drop?
Swords, where do you slice?
Planes, where do you fly?
Armies, where do you march?
Words, where do you lie?

Hate, Hate-
How much love will it take?

image

HATE/LOVE Graphic

Two Worlds

There is life in me-
conscious existence-
I hear your trembling whispers
and the hymns of heaven.
I do not know which holds me closer.

Here and there-
to where shall I end?
I wish to find in your arms, I-
but that heavenly embrace. . .

I hope to cause less pain-
act for whatever that may be.
For my voice and strength are insufficient.

I am here, lost-
you are there, gone.