I look in the mirror, mesmerized by what I see.
Loneliness affects me, and when I lose sleep from thinking I sigh deeply. . .
My eyes show it, for my reflection reveals lines,
and the darkness through the window to my soul
shows signs of turbulent times,
but on the outside I look fine.
See, my struggles with drugs, street love, pistols,
along with money making
have made me numb,
and this drones through me as I come to grips with the beat of the drum.
When the rabbit has the gun, the game’s not fun, huh?
My relation to this reflection I see is like me being an uncle,
looking down to my niece, knowing we come from the same seed,
but feeling she doesn’t belong to me.
Whether it’s not liking what I see,
or hoping to see more of what’s not before me.
I fail to recognize it’s me.
My relation to my reflection reflects my relationship to myself,
the experience of separation when you can’t see the beauty in self.
The aimless task of trying to be like someone else
until that image eventually melts.
When you have no one else, you begin to appreciate self.
So I take a closer look into the mirror,
hoping to relate to my reflection. . . . . .