reflections

an apology at the witching hour
a year late and
far more than a paltry dollar short

i am here.
alone with my thoughts.
haunted by fading ghosts.

looking in the mirror
i don't see myself,
i see you.

your actions
inform my reflection;

altering what i saw a year ago,


into something wiser
perhaps a little warier;
bone-weary from your storm.

heartache,

carved into my skin,

sits tight around my mouth,
in lines deep and wounded;
furrowed by sleeplessness and sorrow.


pain inflicted
shows
in my
now-shuttered
eyes.

am i lonely tonight?

yes.

are you?


my sense of purpose,
blackened in the fallout,
is bruised.

the salve,

a blossoming belief
that it was not me,

applied liberally
morning and night,
turns the throbbing purple
of those hurts
to a pale yellow
almost invisible
to the unaware,
but still sometimes
painful
to the touch.

admire the laughter that lingers
in my proud crows' feet .


new skin
growing
over old wounds.


i remind myself

that

i am good
i am kind

i can not live with myself
if i can not forgive you....

can i?

are you banking on that?

you who toyed
with my gentle heart
for your own amusement.

you
who broke me like no other has
with your shocking selfishness.

you
who use others
in an attempt to fill the gaping hole
that you have not learned to fill yourself.

your ever-hungry ego,
searching for strokes
when what you need most
is
to love,
and
to like
you.

can you?

are you able?
do you know selflessness?
are you brave enough
to face yourself?

the me emerging from the mirror
hopes,
for your sake,
that you are.

the me in the glass,
that pushes past you to see herself,
says prayers
for your awakening.

the me in the glass,
mistreated by you,
is trying to wish you well.

help me out here,
narcissus,
tell me
how am i to forgive you so easily?

is my heart that big?
can i be?
am i capable?

i am.

i love.
i release.
i forgive.

both of us.


forgiving you
releases me

and my heart flies free
to sing again.

© Tanya Anguita