Blurred Reflection

Smeared words,

blurred reflection.

Erased white-board marker memos.

The ghosts of

To-do lists,


and pieces of distant plans.

The translucent smeared words,

that refused to let

a meer tissue

take away their entire essence,

blur my reflection.

A boldly inquiring

eye stares at me,

asking why the other

is distorted and cloudy.

My heart shaped lips

are pulled in

weird directions,

as if my bedroom mirror

was replaced by

a fun-house mirror.

Is this what people see?

A face,

A whole person,

whose words

she uses to understand

the world

are the very things

that blur her

around the edges…

so that others

can’t understand

what she is?

I could

clean the glass,

make it pristine,

clear away the words,

and reveal my full

unobscured image.


I think this.

Everyday I discover

the same answer.

My image,

my very being

would be an empty

shell without


I am

hard to understand.

Choosing to

erase words from

my life

to present a normal image

to those around me,

that would wipe out

any truth in the gaze

that stares back at me

in the mirror.

My blurred reflection

is the most honest,

and insightful portrait possible.

My ghost words stay.

My blurred reflection stays.

And my acceptance of who I truly am stays.


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