when did the
mirror break?

a different angle
for every mood
sharper lines
and harsher truths

jaggedly cut through the glass
same stripes up my sides
personal lightening storm
down my shoulders and thighs

when did the
mirror break?

when did fat stop
being a feeling
and more of just
a state of being?

Since times Immemorial
Mankind has held on to Memories
Of All kinds .

Carbon dating has been done
On Some
In the Caves of lost Civilisations
Still ,deeply etched on the Rocks
To Which ,
Weather has never played a Spoilsport.

Heirloom Jewellery,
Antique paintings and Artifacts
Passed down the generations
Well Preserved.

With the Advent of Technology
Memories made
Whenever & Wherever.

Saved , Deleted, Retrieved

You name it & It is done
Print or Digital
All Fun .

sitting at the kitchen table
crying,
and trying to
explain to my mom
why i stayed
while she told me,
with small kaleidoscopes of
warped devastation
pooling in her eyes
and rolling down her cheeks,
that this is scaring her.
because, it sounds like
i’m the type of girl
who stays,
while her husband beats her.
the girl she raised.
sitting at the kitchen table
crying,
and realizing
that when you ran your hands
through my hair as you kissed me,
you were twirling my future around
your fingers.
this is scaring me
because you’ll be the guy
who carved the hole in my chest
that stays
i know i will see your fingerprints
in all the hands that will come after you.

And I Will Run.

I wake up. Quiet. The sheets beside me are cold. The sun shines trough the dewy windows. I look down at my brown knees. The nail polish on my toes is falling off. I close my eyes for a second and open them again. I leave my bed and look myself in the mirror. My eyes are as blue as the ocean, and I’ve got freckles on my nose. My lips are dry, so I wet them with my tongue. I can feel the warmth from the sun on my thighs. It’s silent.
     My mother enters the room.
     “Who?” she asks.
     “I don’t know” I answer. She leaves.
     I look at myself in the mirror again. I look pretty, with my tan skin as a contrast to my blue eyes. An eyelash has fallen off and landed on my cheek, but I don’t remove it. I look away, at the sun. It shines again today. I miss the ocean.

Pills and guns
Is what they did for fun
Violence crawled their minds
Only separation was to find
These tendencies are coming alive
Carried in the wind like a bee hive
She was the first
To realize her ****** thirst
He was the second
To realize he was demented
They each took their ways of violence
And when he died, she was silent
She smiled to know he was safe
In heaven where he could relate
To the victims that had lost their life
At the hand of one man's knife
This was her best wish to him
All she wanted was him to give in
To the regret he had felt
In order to make something else
But that all had passed
Her love never would last
To end all her pain
She grabbed a knife
And cut her vain

My father told me
to **** myself.
Lacking like-mindedness,
thankfully I've never been one
to do as they're told.

Knuckles white,
gripping the steering wheel,
face flush,
my inner monologue tells me
to drive straight through the curve.
A crash a crunch and a click.
This accident had a purpose;
was on purpose.
Upside-down, perspective is vertigo.
Clarity is a crack in the windshield.

Shattered glass lay around me.
Lump in my throat
from a pill too large to swallow.

So I crawl to an antique store
and purchase an urn.
A pull from a cigarette, I tap
the ash into the urn.
When the pack is finished
I place the lid
and hand the contents
to my father.