Stories of Poetry and Vice Versa

Crack.

I look
At myself
In a broken mirror.
But only with
Broken eyes
Sharp,
Jagged,
Cutting,
Dividing
Lines
A cross crossed web of terror
Do I see someone
Worth smiling for.
Because with all those cracks
It's hard not to laugh
When I can't recognize
My
Features anymore.

And when I put on my glasses
And clear the cracks in my vision
And move to a whole mirror
Only she can see anything good in that.

So I always look
At least through cracked lenses
In one way or another
So I can humor myself
At least a little.