PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I look in the mirror

and what do I see-

a stranger is there,

waiting for me.

Could she be me?

It couldn’t be.

Those eyes seem to hold

so many mysteries untold

And that smile shines

so unlike mine.

Could those lips be the same

that spout my venomous flame?

Could those eyes be the ones

that have shed so many tears?

It couldn’t be.

I turn from her in fear

Shaking as I turn.

Inevitably I return

Back to the stranger that waits for my there.

I see her again,

staring at me

her shock of black hair

tumbling over her shoulders,

glistening in the sun.

She reaches up to stroke it,

as I do the same to mine.

Every slight movement I make,

is made by her too.

Is that stranger there, inches from me,

is that stranger me?

It couldn’t be.

Is that hair the same

that flows over my pillow,

and I brush every morning, noon, and night?

And are those movements so deliberate

the same movements I make

in every moment of my days?

Is that stranger so foreign, that stranger so far,

is that stranger me?

It couldn’t be.

And if it is,

then why do I not feel

a slight feeling of oneness,

or even understanding?

Why do I not feel connected

in any way at all

to that stranger in the mirror

that I cannot claim as me?

Why do I see a stranger there,

so distant and so far

when everyone else looks at themselves,

and I cannot see me?