A poem is a mirror
the side you choose not to see,
revealing to you
You might resent the poet that holds up the mirror
be gentle with me,
have my own sins…
Who holds up the mirror for me?
Must I do it for you and me both??
Ah, the burden of Atlas!
It always comes back to Atlas and Sisyphus with me!
Damn you existentialist!
I will not!
But I must…
So cast your stones at your poet who helps you see your shadow!
Blame me for seeing the world poorly!
I am the distorted mirror
and the reflection you see,
it moves your stomach,
only because you know,
you see you,
and cannot accept this to be