I don’t have cause to look in the mirror much but when I do, it’s more like checking in with an old friend.

How’s it going? How’s it really going?

I look deep into my eyes for the real answer.

There’s clouds, a change in the air. I evade myself, I throw up walls.

It’s going fine, I say. Nothing to see here, carry on.

I see past the lies. I know what to look for. I try not to probe, I give myself space.

We lie to make space around ourselves.

We’re so close, on either side of the glass, and still can’t see.

When we lie to ourselves how do we use the space in between?

To pretend we’re someone else? Or to avoid being the one in the mirror?

Categories: poetry, writing

Tags: identity, poem