The eyes in the mirror cannot lie, they tell you exactly what lies behind the facade that you wear. They force you to confront the truths and consequences of your being. Like you, from time to time, they let me stare into the soul and depths of my brokenness. I see the damage and eerie emptiness beyond the cover that makes my face. I could see the mockery in my perfect sense of self as I watch the cracks smile - the image haunts me. And deep down within my core, I come to know that these horrors actually embody the pieces of my story.
From the mirror, I could see the pieces rattle at the bottom of my empty jar; I see me, broken. The juxtaposed images from the visions paint something ugly and I almost lean on blaming the hand that held the brush. I try to be blind to my eyes being opened to the manifestation of my choices. The sight of it is never tasty, and I am not allowed to barf. I have to swallow the mess that I am made of, as by the moment.
Sometimes, there is no consolation to the hopelessness that dwells within. Are we supposed to be this broken and lost? I ask myself in the mirror only to find a broken and lost person looking right back at me for the same answer. But if I turn my back on the person in the mirror and turn a deaf ear to the echo because it is deafening, I am afraid that I would deny myself the very parts that make me. Like a piece of art, I am never really complete to the eye, there are layers to my creation. Life is messy, and so am I.

© Ommie