An exploded moment of self-reflection, something we all might be afraid of—a hard or soft look at ourselves in beautiful poetry, a selfie polarized by the look in each other’s eyes. My arms are numb, weak holding up my phone. My rib cage is tender, leaning to contort my spine. Sitting down alone, nauseous and dizzy. I’m as comfortable as I can be in clothes on land. I have beautiful blue eyes that all my friends fall in love with, prisms that change in the mood lighting of my life, revealed in bright sunlight in surprise. My eyelids swell in love and grief for all the things done to my body beyond my consciousness. Dilated pupils tracking my scars, cuts lazily sewn together with violent force. I’m working hard to embody my sick, twisted, barren self. I’m a mirror freak, heartbroken, far beyond the trembling task of looking at myself, and because of that you won’t ever forget me or my wind-blown hair drenched in oils.
Alt Text Selfies
