Looking at my own reflection
A poem (Image was a nightmare to find so excuse that it's a woman when the poem is from a male perspective)
Looking at my own reflection
Not the six pack I had hoped for
not the height I dreamed of being
Glasses forced to aid my seeing
A few scars hard to hide away
Looking feeling that sense of grey
to be best I'm always fleeing
Looking at my own reflection
These thoughts forever such a bore
For not all are so agreeing
knowing this now is so freeing
to know I am worth so much more
Looking at my own reflection
I hope you enjoyed this poem. I wanted to try a different style so I'm babbling on to make the word limit
About the Creator
Hywel Latimyr
I kinda suck at writing but I enjoy it
Anyway, here's a dumb little haiku:
The gunslinger draws
His opponent does the same
oh dear, they both died
Keep reading
More stories from Hywel Latimyr and writers in Poets and other communities.
Smartystan
Rain didn’t stop Mala. Swaddling for Edgar covered the baby boy’s body and she held her other son’s, Burton, six-year-old hand. The mud, muck, and mire didn’t hinder her from staying on course with her mission. From Pennsylvania, they all trekked to get closer and closer to land that was never promised but simply implied. Each step produced more mud caked around her sneakers. She didn’t care. Her rucksack provided them protein packs to put into plastic bottles and nuts and berries and dried meats to keep their muscles in good health. Water hydrated. She rested. The baby had been asleep the entire time that she had started her journey and her eldest son remained silent throughout the excursion as well.
By Skyler Saundersa day ago in Chapters
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.