statues of others
I sit on the ground of my castle
Looking up, very high, at the statues of others.
The ones on a pedestal.
I try to step towards them;
To get what I want
But my feet are encased in stone.
I chisel away, every day, every night.
Trying to make a statue worthy of them.
Their cold granite faces
That I’ve taken for granted
Stare down, down at me.
Never blinking.
mirrors
Mirrors always scared me
Just like most of life
Because I know when I look into them
The picture isn’t clear
The edges dark and blurry
The centerpiece’s smudged,
And the glass has a crack in it that goes right through my nose.
And I know this sounds stupid
But when I’m standing next to you
My mirror looks a lot brighter
And I wonder if yours does too?
But then again it doesn’t matter
Since soon I’ll forget you
You’ll vanish from the reflection
Without a single word
And all that will remain of us
Is a little tiny scratch in the middle of the glass
And then I’m sad.
Storm is a teen from central California, which they say is less sun tans and Hollywood and more bad drivers and mediocre weather. Their hobbies include sword fighting, poetry, and sleeping.
The Literary Forest Poetry Magazine 