I keep cotton and lilacs and things that burn with a sweet scent underneath my souls laundry pile, so I don't forget to change it over.
Change it over, and the target shifts and comes to fall square onto me.
My scales fly up and my esophagus is dry and I, amongst the velvet walls am spinning.
My words turn to cords, which turn to notes and percussion and, glass shattering onto checkered linoleum, introducing the steps of a ginger headed and busty bosomed mistress with black lensed glasses and silver bangles clattering,
she’s running orange claws against the chalk wall and calls out to me, shrilly to “look in the mirror”.
I whip my eyes about, but the hallway keeps gyrating and heaving, syncopated to the heftiness of someone else's heartbeats and I can’t find it, the reflection.
Look in the mirror! Cawing and shrieking she cocks her head, delivering directions backed by the power of my shortcomings, which slam into my memory.
Look into the mirror! The scene changes and everyone I’ve ever cared for no longer needs my help, they are well and self sufficient.
Look into the mirror! And all my wants and dreams, the mountains, the babies, the climate are within my reach but vanish at the thought of touch.
Look into the mirror and I clasp my hands hard against my ears and scream
Go Fuck yourself!
Listening until my own mind is split open, because the problem really never ever falls to my ears, faultless deaf ears.
I think I'm not so sweet like cherries and marzipan anyways and I think I sneak treats to the selfish demons in my belly for justification or gratification or what have you.
I think nothing is important to me until my mind is.
And I think that i’m scared to learn.
Look into the mirror and see how my reactions control me!
Look into the mirror and see if I hold the candles I crafted to what I ask for.
look in the mirror and decide if I’ve left any room for myself.
Because there are planets shifting again and my tarot decks are putting on their evening wear to bounce out on me and my couch will eventually have to pull itself off of me. The trees outside cross their limbs and turn their backs at me because my chin is tilted down from the sky and there's a cracking heart full of tears, neglected on my back door step and it's all because I spoon out too much for too long for too deep.
It’s because the thoughts that escape my brain stumble along and visit everyone's center before my own.
Because I cry so those who are thirsty can drink
and bend so those who are rigid, can break
and dish and dish and dish out to prevent famine of the hungry hearted before I myself am full.