ReflectionsRemindMeOfMulan

I look at my reflection in broken mirrors.
And it’s exactly how I see myself.
But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying to piece myself together to the best of my ability like torn up photographs. But I keep putting pieces in the wrong places because I hate what I turned into.
And it turns out…
Walking through nightmares is the only time I’m content with my self.
With my eyes closed.
Waking blindly, hands outstretched.

Lost.
Because my sense of self has no sense of direction.
My charms are bibles in Atheist households.
My opinion is a hobo’s resume.
My self-esteem is a bottomless pit.
My insecurities are the deep end of the swimming pool.
And my words…seem to carry all the weight of balloons in lunar atmospheres.

So I’m back to searching for myself.
Looking for where my secrets lie, in the shadows where Dr. Jekyll hides.
With night vision goggles and a kaleidoscope, hoping I can turned these shapes into something and these words into anything.

But my broken mirror reflection keeps origami-ing my vision into folded page poems and apology letters I never sent.
Now I can see the person that I should be having fistfights with the person I turned into…and it doesn’t end well.

I’ve already Fight Clubbed my self-worth into submission every time I second-guessed myself. Venom in my veins from the cobras I could never get a hold of Because I always had trouble holding my tongue.
And these copy+pasted lies become musical notes. Charming words from their hiding place from what left inside my ribcage.

And I’m just left to wonder…if I’ll ever put myself together right.