Dear mirror!
Which mask shall I wear today?
Shall I be the mentor, the friend, the parent or the child?
Maybe I'll be the lascivious creeper.
Shall I be righteous or angry?
Which gods shall I invoke
to subdue my anxiety?
Insecurities writhe
beneath a balaklava of bravado.
Will the crushing fear of mediocrity
ever go away?
How do they know?
This reflection is mine alone.
They must not see.
For them, is only the mask.
Did they see the real me?
The frightened child,
playing tough and talking big,
yet to make a scar on the world?
Ersatz confidence;
hubris wrapped in
misanthropic jealousy with
delicious dreams of power.
Lustful conquerings.
Epic glory.
Control.
Dominate.
Subjugate.
Masturbate.
Rinse, repeat.
Come and play,
easy prey.
What games can I conjure
to deflect the lens of scrutiny?
I'll build a cardboard fort,
and fill it with soldiers.
And I'll give them gifts of ether.
And promises.
And design a flag.
And wear a fierce banner across my back.
And I'll paint my face.
And I'll...
And I'll roarrrrr!
Let them feel my wrath!
Let them feel my virtual wrath.
By the Power of Greyskulllll!
I have the powerrrrr!
The karmic wheel forever spins.
Can I back my hand in this game,
before the mirrors come
crashing down?
They'll laugh behind closed fingers,
their eyes wet with amusement.
And they'll say,
'The reins you hold are a gift.'
And they'll say,
'There is none so enslaved as he who holds the whip.'
They say too much.
Silence!
My hands are empty
and the gaping abyss,
from whence I came
– clasping, clawing, grasping –
will stare back with its cruel, dark eyes.
'Come home,' it'll say.
