Mirror mirror, talk to me.
It's not depression tell my mother she doesn't have to read my diary.
Why can't i look right in the eyes, is my vision that blurry, are my irises covered with a whole wave making them watery?
Mirror mirror I'm not happy.
This reflection is teasing me, either I'm breaking it into tiny pieces of glass or I'm leaving.
my lover recited me a book of metaphors that sounded like lies and the quiet rain turned to thunderstorms, I don't belong in family gatherings, I don't fit in happy symphonies..
Mirror mirror talk to me.
is my eyeliner smudged enough for them to believe my misery? am i thin enough to make their hands caress my cheeks, is my mother here? Tell her i need a little chat before i drop the biggest tragedy..
Mother mother, talk to me
I'm here but far away, hiding behind my room's door covering my sobs by loud melodies, can i get into your arms? Or you're not used to holding strangers tightly?
It's not depression. You can see me smiling, does that count or should i allow you to read my diary?
My tears are wetting the papers and the cursive is becoming hard for reading, it holds enough sorrow doesn't it?
I'm coming to you at five in the morning, it's been five hours since my waterfalls broke their limits, my pillow is drowning with wet stories that my diary can't carry but I'm coming for you.
My mother, i broke the mirror to pieces and i need a favor from you to me,
i just need you to hold me.
YOU ARE READING
CHAOTIC.
Poetry2# SLAM January 9th 2019 And you know you're creating art When your heart is slowly falling apart.
