Blind Spot in the Mirror
My bathrooms dirty and I am free of desire to change it.
My mirror has evaporation spots should I be bothered that I am unbothered
I stare and pose.
My self confident fluxgates faster then the mussels in my face move.
I notice the lumps of dough hanging off the side of my torso and so I gyrate the limbs on my body for thirty seconds.
I can now confidently tell myself I have don’t exercise today, despite not leaving my apartment.
I am such a fatty.
Isolation leaves one constantly feeling like they are the greatest and the worst at everything.
Perhaps the thought I am having now are the most original and thought provoking thoughts any human has ever had.
On second thought, maybe every human has had similar thoughts but dismissed them because they understood the banality of them.
There is no one to judge, so why be someone miserably feeling sorry for myself.
Its not that I am feeling sorry for myself it is that I question the legitimacy of myself.
Isolation produces my most introspective thoughts.
Though no one wants to hear someone whine
But am I whining or am I sharing
My eyes are quite lovely
Other then shades of purple underneath them and the forehead that creeps over.
How many times can my eyes deceive my eyes before I understand I can cure my blindness with eye drops that reveal a potentially painful truth?
Would that have been an amazing or sappy metaphor to end this poem on?
Can this even really be considered a poem?
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