The Mirror: Poetry

Frustration runs
through me in rivers,
smashing against
the rocks of my thoughts

If I were only shaken
rather than stirred,
I'd be like a smooth
hit of vodka

I am that nasty brew
from the party
that you wish you'd
never tasted

I am forgettable,
regrettably obtuse
faded and jaded
in yesterday's jeans

There is no flare
of dash and daring
for the a girl who
always plays it safe

I'm like that sporting
event already rigged,
the destination is
already set
but the audience just
doesn't know it yet

And my footsteps just
mark time
to the ragtime beat
and the big swing
of desperation
with a world
that moves to fast
for me to understand

So I sit here,
steady rocking,
hugging myself
against non-existent wind
just so I can face
the hardest critic

the one that looks
at me inside the mirror

And that is the crux
of my confusion,
what stirs me about
like a drinking straw

this box I create for
myself with eyes
that used to be so
clear and focused

but are not just looking
at me inside the mirror...

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