it’s just a reflection

A funny thing happened in an elevator this evening. I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror, and I looked away just as quickly, not recognising myself. I glanced back at the girl in the mirror, and felt a tiny jolt in my body when I realised that she was me.

I did not greet myself with a smile, yet I did not despair at the state of my hair, or grumble at my double chin. My worries did not trouble my face. I looked different, or possibly not different at all but just myself without the judgements and the preconceptions, and the desperate, impossible pursuit of ‘perfection’.

I looked away again quickly, savouring this moment and knowing it would not last if I continued to look. In the elevator, fit for seventeen people and full of other theatre enthusiasts,

I felt the same as everyone else; unique and interesting, loveable and complicated. 


My body,

No work of art,

Lies naked for your intent.

Your darting eyes

Quicker than

Your furious hands

Lost in thought,

Contours and curves.

Two canvases  

One draped

Carelessly across

My bones;

Etched and shaded

By hurt,

Harm and hatred.

Yours finds beauty

In the stark stillness,

Mine sees ugly 

In the shame.



In his bed,

I lie in defeat

Exposed to the elements

The world in retreat;

The wind, no longer a baying wolf,

And the rain, now sullen and slow,

The hurt dares to engulf

And the tears violently flow,

Drowning what lies beneath.

Shrouded in cotton

Veiled by this sheath

Of naïve pretence or

Wholehearted deceit.  


As the evening glows

In shades of rust,

I watch the summer

Turn to dust

My foot prints,

Spoil the muddy crust

Lonesome behind

My love, my lust.

The retrograde,

Throws me back,

Colours my world

A brilliant black.

My mind and heart,

Knows not what to do,

Unravels without

You for glue.

At night, I stir,

Disrupted slumber

In day, I shift,

Self-conscious lumber

In between, I retreat,

Torn asunder,

I yearn your heat

With ferocious hunger.