What bewilders me most about my reflection,
is how it changes in my eyes,
whispers seductive curses to my virgin brain.
Some days I'm a lion man, defined and razor sharp, muscles swelling,
Drawing your gaze to mine, where sapphires lurk in oil.
On other days my chest is a matchbox, thin and puce and overgrown,
A man child - sickly pale,
Hollow and whole similarly.
Settle on one frame I beg,
Don't taunt me with false heroism.
If I'm never to fly, shave off my wings and name me a rat.
YOU ARE READING
Happy-Sad Poetry
PoetryA collection of poems written by me over several years, many of which contain deep dark worries and fears. It isn't light stuff, but please lose yourself in my words and come out the other side a different person.
