Flawless, how can I feel flawless when beneath the spotted mirror my reflection barely lurks? Flawless, how can I feel perfect when my heart is blotchy like Grandma’s inky, moody pearls? A broken smile, a set of hounded eyes reflect back at me, finding a perfect circumstance? Tell me this: does perfection truly exist? I wish someone would answer me this. The tug of war, the push and pull, the night and day is cast, to find myself, within myself, perfection will not outlast. I treasure me, I wish to be free, of my selfish expectations, which seem never to quietly pass, I call and call into the mirror for myself, but nothing surfaces, truly I am lost. Meanwhile, you don’t strive for flawlessness, you embrace subtle cracks, your broken is your triumphant wholeness, from lost lands, from hell you’ve been, and back again; sights, minds, and feelings sometimes unseemly - you toss and turn, can’t cease your thinking, the power of that on/off switch is wide-eyed and blinking. I do not know why, but collided worlds, frozen time, hands at opposite ends of a spectrum, I delve into lost moments which presently arrive, this time is no longer only mine. Words coagulate in Chemistry’s positions, bewitched, enchanting? flawless, so it seems? And in the mirror, I now aim to find you stitched together almost, almost flawlessly, though I’ll need to buff the reflection, because it’s time to fall into it, allow a shadowy presence to return and brighten, rise to his worldly heaven, to reign over his own kingdom, won’t he permit his return to rightful power? © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Photo by Thiago Matos from Pexels
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