I don't recognize the face in the mirror.
It stares back at me with its worn-out look.
It's almost as if their body's weighted down while trying to walk uphill.
It's like I know the face.
But it's hidden behind a mask.
They mask their constant, unbearable ache.
I can barely make out the eyes. The eyes; they're the mirror to one's soul.
These eyes; they've seen many things in this lifetime; you'd be astonished.
Once riveting; now wearisome.
The lips: they've spoken many truths, only to be neglected; not taken seriously
The once imperative words coming from them now just another drip in the cosmic universal ocean.
The nose: the nose has smelled every good and every bad memory;
It invokes episodic memories and emotional reactions.
Scent is dramatistic; perhaps the most evocative emotion.
Still, I can't make out the face as a whole.
There are merely parts that I can tell at a glance.
You see, this face is mine, but I simply don't recognize it anymore.
I don't recognize the person that I've become.
It's time to take off the mask; it's time to see the whole story, not just parts.
- Cathryn
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
