not my photograph…

Seeing the images of me, reflected, in a broken mirror, and, no matter if I were able to, glue all the pieces of that broken mirror back together, those cracks on it, well, they’ll always, be there, severing me into so many different “parts”.

Seeing the images of me, reflected, in a broken mirror, how, am I supposed to, deal with the percepts of me, are those broken-up parts, really who I am? Or, am I, more than what I am perceiving?

still NOT my photo here…

Seeing the images of me, reflected, in a broken mirror, I’d walked, quickly past it, for I’d not wanted the reminders, of how broken up I am, how fractured I’d become, and, as I got home, I looked into that ordinary mirror (that’s not broken, by the way!!!), hanging in my hall ways, lo and behold! I still looked, broken, but, how, how, how can this be? The mirror’s not broken, it’s still, in one whole piece!!!