Diary of Stuff (Volume I)
Dayz long ago.
I remember a time when i used to go to my fave'rite Burger
King and chill out in the back. I didn't know that it was
for the smokers, but that's besides this point, there were
none at the time. Along the back wall were mirrors, that
faced me, and I looked at them, at my own reflection, and
thought about a poem by Sylvia Plath about mirrors, how
eerie it was, and what state of mind she might have been in
when she wrote it (or did she construct it?) I thought of
the future then, making plans, thinking how it would all
work, but the mirror kept distracting me, because it was me
in there. I stared at me for a while, and couldn't turn
away. My reflection was a totally different person from
who I thought that I was. My appearance, looks, and
clothing, were totally at odds with the image of my self
contained in my brain. I must've smiled at myself, for the
prankster within me leapt out and laughed a great laugh.
What a fool I had been! I chuckled and tucked that thought
away somewhere to be looked at with greater detail
later... I was a King in my own eyes! But what I saw was
a little kid, hair in his eyes, untucked button-up shirt
(with at least the first top buttons unbuttoned), faded
jeans torn at the knees, ratty old tennis shoes......and
the youngish face that I had ever laid eyes on...ha! ha! ha!
Well, here it is, thanks to the internut--
"Mirror" - Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Sad to say, those dayz are long gone...............
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