Some mornings, the vision
Of my tired eyes is blurred
And the person in the mirror
Isn’t good enough to face the world.
But with smoother skin and pinker lips,
Or even longer lashes,
I am far more prepared to see the storm,
My fire will leave this place in ashes.
But what if it’s all an illusion?
What if it’s simply in my mind?
What if this painting of my face
Is only leaving me confined?
Imagine the cities I could burn
If I just let the people see,
The wonderment in removing a mask
When I’d almost forgotten it was me.