Poetry 21 - Broken Mirrors

It sat in front of me,

still and blueish.

Inconsistently colored,
smooth texture.
Hands like paper-thin, living leaves
of northern grass.

The lenses were covered,
but lifted, there was a reflection –
I digress, reflect –
Reflection.

I wish I could wake this corpse,
so it would look at me.
My favorite thing about eyes
is that they double as mirrors.

Poetry 20 - 8 Reasons Why It's OK to Lie

Ten Reasons Why It’s OK to Lie:

Eight, because harmless impulses could be humorous.
Seven, because the truth is boring.
Six, “truth resists simplicity,” and I can’t clear up the grey.
Five, your parents are on their way home and the party isn’t quite finished.
Four, you can’t run out of lies, but you can run out of truth.
Two, because you skipped number three.
One, because you’re a writer and that’s how you make your living.

Poetry 19 - Cosmic Paradise

The pale skin of a tanned girl,
which I touch,
which my fingers glide around,
like I am sculpting a recreation of her beauty.

Blue eyes may match the moon,
but for brown eyes,
where have the compliments gone?
Dare I tell her that instead
her irises match my lungs?

Whatever the case,
I must bask in her warmth.

Because
in this room,
I found cosmic paradise,
a heavenly escape
with heavenly standards,
a chaotic representation of grace.

In this room,
she holds me like she walks through air,
like she is my tightrope savior,
speeding on thin ice above the world.
And I am the same to her.