
The mirror reflects my eyes,
the same dark-rimmed irises,
but behind them are flames, heart on fire,
burning away what is not me.
Inherited facades turning to ash
while I wait to see if I’m a phoenix
or a moon or a tide
or the whole damn sky.
The mirror reflects my eyes,
the same dark-rimmed irises,
but behind them are flames, heart on fire,
burning away what is not me.
Inherited facades turning to ash
while I wait to see if I’m a phoenix
or a moon or a tide
or the whole damn sky.