I look at the mirror
And shudder at the sight
Thinking hard to recognize
The person standing there
I glance stealthily at her
Not knowing how to react
For the image in front of me
Is not what I want it to be
I try to reason
How I became someone
Who hides from what she believes
My hands are red from blood
Not of men but of thoughts
Of dreams I saw
When I was young
I laugh at my reflection
Ignoring the pain I feel
The hollow gaze
Shouting at me.
Was it my fault?
Or was it faith
That in front of me
Was a person
Of whom I was afraid.
Her eyes had no shine
Her face was pale.
It felt as though
She had nothing to question
She was lost
In her own mind,
Voices from everywhere
Were her shackles
Whom to listen
And whom to say
Let me be as I want to be.
My image said the truth
That I couldn't accept.
I was no longer
Who I longed to be.
YOU ARE READING
Inside The Spiral
PoesíaOne of the best ways to let the turmoil inside your head is to write. At least for me. Here's a collection of poems, some are sad, some have hope, some are just me trying to figure out why. Okay, almost none of them have hope. But eh.
