Man In The Mirror

“we are nothing more than enemies!” the man in the mirror elates,

he hates when I mumble all my musings in front of his face.

Hates when I step into the world instead of him,

instead of king, he says I play pawn, squandering my limbs.

Haunting my inner monologue, hiding in snide soliloquies,

tied to my minds hide, I think he has it in for me!

detesting the vain veneer of never speaking aloud,

perpetuating the notion of seeking solace in clouds.

“Aspirations and dreams!” he echoes every now and then,

Aggravated and mean, he screams until his powers end.

But his power, never ending, is now befriend my whims,

so part of me, part from me, ever slowly becoming him!

Intoxicated with curious, warm thoughts. I’m furious!

From war torn, the two us waltz and adopt emulous.

I’m challenging his notions! I read whatever he reads!

Peeling back the pages to see whatever he sees!

Seeing what he has seen has redirected my questions,

softened the hardened that rarely headed suggestions.

The boy in front of the mirror, manufactured direction,

never to be bested by the rival in his reflection.