my reflection (was rejected by a magazine)

entry picture

I stare on down,

down the sinkhole

the gunk, hair and blood 

stares back 

 

it taunts my skin 

caressed by lavender soap 

smooth from scrubbing

a reminder of my dirty sin 

 

I stare further down 

down the patterned metal strainer

into the deep void, beyond black 

 

god, that hair

the gunk

the gross, gross hair

gagging up my insides 

 

further down I see

the curves and labels of the tap  

the saucer angles itself

to lead water into a trap

 

but as I stare further down the void,

back I come to reality 

I realize my wide, disgusted pupils 

were the only saucer I could see. 

 

 

,

 

dysphoriaidentitymirrorself-view

◄ the first lonely moment without them. but more importantly, without something to numb the silence

empathetic my ass ►

Comments

MortimerBlooming

Thu 14th May 2020 04:40

This is a great poem about self thought and you mirrored something as meaningless as sinkhole gunk to your own self giving it an everlasting importance. It was the magazine's loss for sure

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