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I write while looking in the mirror
at me I see the ankh that hangs
around my neck to what ideology
I pay my homage to and give much respect
my face changes with each expression
the tip of my pen making impressions
closed doors to open confessions
scribbling through words to make corrections
eye to eye contact making connections
with my haunting reflection
taunting me to look angrily upon
thoughts of society while absorbing
the music playing on iTunes throughout
the atmosphere and ambiance of my room
over my shoulder a portrait
of my grandparents
who has been out of the picture so long
the view is almost transparent
and apparent to me that the
two of them are watching over me
wishing I had that good ol’
hot water cornbread recipe
I'd go to the kitchen and whip up a batch
my thoughts start to race
ahead of my thinking
my eyes bat and wander
all over the place
back and forth in my mind
I start to pace
my heart beating in surround sound
my mean mug and frown
dare my face to smile
I find myself to be too serious
and noticeably unapproachable
I see inside of me the faces of many
trying to face the different sides of me
behind the mirror with what's behind me
