She stares back at me
and I don’t know what to tell her
– this isn’t the real me,
only a part of it,
at a certain time,
in a certain light,
turn me to the left and
I’ll look better
but to you,
that’s worse,
that’s comfort,
some sort of reassurance that you’re not doing
too badly.
So today,
you climbed inside
long pink skirts and lipstick stains
just to touch me,
and you vanished
– the best known magic trick
in your repertoire.
did it make you feel better? worse?
I want you to look at me.
I too am magic, but not black magic:
To her, I am the
plastic surgery she cannot afford,
the skin she always wanted,
the curves she envisioned,
but never owned.
To you, I am a broken mirror
you never wanted to see,
a glaring reflection
of dead, rotting, brown cells
slowly and painfully dissolved
like the lipstick on your teeth you accidentally swallowed.
So consider it,
then go ahead
click FOLLOW
and come
chase after
my spells.
I know you want them too.
poetpri 