Mirror Spirals
My shoulder blades — uneven... it starts with that.
up to a double chin, a crooked smile, forgettable features, a figure neither slim enough nor giving
It spirals from this to that until
you cannot breathe it off with reason, nor tone it down to one thing to fix
and your heart — what about it? a grey that lacks an innocent slate
What are you really? why are you?
I dreamt of getting kissed yesterday
right at the corners of my crooked smile,
we twirled in the rain until all went dizzy
and we fell
down on our backs
hugged by a smooth ground that neither scratched nor scarred
It felt like a melody — delicate fingertips thrumming my skin
I woke up humming, a tune of love that starts with you —
Dear, you,
It took me years to write you in transparent ink...
sometimes I fear the way you look at me and see nothing, it makes me wonder how the world sees us if that’s how we see ourselves...
it makes me wonder about love; what’s a heart that beats for everything but itself?
It took me so many years to admit
how I like your uneven shoulders, your crooked smile, and a figure that’s neither this nor that but wholly yours,
your heart that beat in all the times you begged it not to... how it carried you through the deepest ruthless valleys…
I see you all the time even when I am not looking...
in a night sky caving for the light to come through,
in raindrops falling, but growing deeper roots
in a river flowing not knowing where it ends yet always giving
Sometimes I wonder what makes our skin,
and if to life we took the very same road
what makes one worth it and one not?
what's beauty? what's not? what's a definition?
it never failed to baffle me, how sometimes we look in mirrors and see everything but ourselves...
Dearest you:
A whole world in itself
never worth shattering for empty definitions.
