The horror of reflections

I'm naked, 

I'm vulnerable. 

Having no angle, 

no light, 

no control, 

I'm doomed to the undenying horror of my reflection. 

Certainly I am freed from the expectations of media but the comfort remains of scratching out the soul. 

I'm fearful of the world,

the beginning and end of lives we never knew we stole. 

I'm me, 

pathetic and complicated. 

No filter does seem to hide the flaws,

nor the ability to shift the camera stop the mask from covering what was.

But without all,

I'm human and uncolorful.

Never immortal to the uncanny reflections  staring at me in the face. 

Through tendency, I forget my place. 

What everyone sees cannot be me. 

Plain and absent, 

I'm only but a fragment. 

Naked to the eye of the beholder and vulnerable to the cold shoulder, 

I abuse the angles, the lights, the control

only to feel somehow whole. 

No more worry about imperfections and lack of 'freedom'.

Without the camera, or some man-made mirrored reflection, 

I'm no greater than an atom, wishing I was acknowledged and part of the selection. 




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