Man In The Mirror

Hand_with_Reflecting_Sphere_by_Curlie_11

“we are nothing more than enemies!” ┬áthe man in the mirror elates,

he hates when I mumble all my musings in front of his face.

Hates when I step into the world instead of him,

instead of king, he says I play pawn, squandering my limbs.

Haunting my inner monologue, hiding in snide soliloquies,

tied to my minds hide, I think he has it in for me!

detesting the vain veneer of never speaking aloud,

perpetuating the notion of seeking solace in clouds.

“Aspirations and dreams!” he echoes every now and then,

Aggravated and mean, he screams until his power ends.

But his power, never ending, is now befriending my whims,

so part of me, parts from me, ever slowly becoming him!

Intoxicated with curious, warm thoughts. I’m furious!

From war torn, the two us waltz and adopt emulous.

I’m challenging his notions! I read whatever he reads!

Peeling back the pages, to see whatever he sees!

Seeing what he has seen has redirected my questions,

softened the hardened head that rarely headed suggestions.

The boy in front of the mirror, manufactured direction,

never to be bested by the rival in his reflection.