I See… I Am…

11.19.2016

Each time I look into the mirror,

I fail at consistency.

My eyes an aperture

A passage to illuminate or dim

I see two different beings

on any given day

I see a punching bag;

Myself.

An object. A victim.

An outlet for my rage

An outlet to express

my disgust in the flesh being

that stares back at me.

I see me.

A sorry being for my existence

A punching bag to abuse

With words that puncture

Knives that tear

away the flesh

I see as a giant flawed organ.

In the mirror

I see a canvas of wood

An earthly slate to paint.

Roots diving into the depths of the galaxies

Flesh made from stars

An opportunity to paint greatness

I see innocence

I see art.

A fragment of Mother Nature

Of the wind of the sun of the moon

Crying rain droplets

To nourish growing plants that lay within

a love-flooded heart.

An opportunity to nourish these internal plants

Or let them shrivel

An opportunity to grow with these plants

To provide food, provide flowers

Provide beauty

To every being.

When I look into the mirror

I am greeted by a sacred face

An active mind

A yearning soul

I choose whether to allow my thoughts dictate who I am,

Or to consistently feel the tether of the universe

flow within me

An artist. A canvas. I am.