The mirror

Held up high and from afar, a fogged mirror reflects me.
Will my reflection ever be clear?
No one around to see all my angles and doubts.

The blurred, blinded eyes can’t see past assumptions.
The mirror bears expectations, stories, deceptions.
But no reality, I’m afraid.

A closer look reveals nothing but perceptions.
A change in angle opens paper-thin perspectives.
A living, looking glass of imagined non-fiction narratives.
Not to be seen are the images others search in me.

Is this a broken mirror if the reality reflected is never accurate?
The pieces tightly placed together by unfounded beliefs
Show me nothing but flaws, fears, wishes, and ideas,
Mistakes and corrections, ideals, and imperfections.

I got so many questions to ask my reflection,
This isn’t Snow White. I stand in front of myself unanswered.
Until the mirror cracks.

The beliefs reflected crumble under query
And the shards of glass end up scattered across the floor.
Shattered reflections — still, no reality anywhere near.

I’m the only one left to clean up the mess
Of my fragmented past cracking under my feet.
Fabricated, its edges can still cut my flesh
Sharpened throughout years of delusion,
How can I avoid bleeding into awakening?

©Mayra Gomes. All rights reserved.