I dream I'm standing next to me,
and it's quite curious to see
my tilted head and toothy smile
and hurried walk and happy style.
Oh, what a chance this is to see
some real, uncut, unfiltered me
—and dare I say that I'm impressed?
How well I talk! How well I'm dressed!
But then I look a little closer,
and now I see that I'm a boaster.
I like to flaunt the feats I've done
and brag about my battles won.
Oh, yes, it's shameful now to see
how self-absorbed I am with me
—to see the way I nod and smile
and act engaged when all the while
my gaze is not engaged at all
—it's in the mirror that's on the wall!
Did I just try to fix my hair?
She noticed that! She sees my stare!
But I am blind within myself
—I love my pride, and little else.
And only now, when I'm not me,
I wish to change the self I see.
YOU ARE READING
On a Young Heart
PoetryA collection of my random poetic inspirations. Though they're not profound, I hope that everyone who reads them can find something special and meaningful in these words.
