- Non-Erotic Poetry
- the stranger in the mirror
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A/N: That’s just a little something out of my overactive imagination, no worries; I’m not auto-aggressive or suicidal at all… ;)
How
Can I still look into the mirror?
Can I understand the woman in front of me?
Why is that not me?
She is pretty. That’s not me.
She is proud of herself. That’s not true.
She wants it again. No.
Please
Why
Is she self-contented?
And why
Do I still look into the mirror?
That’s not me.
She raises her hand.
Her eyes are fixed on mine.
She observes me
As though I’m her prey.
I am her prey.
Her hand comes closer, curled into a fist.
I don’t move. I won’t move.
The glass restrains her.
Why?
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