mirrored pockets

beauty personified she is
but she doesn't know it
sees only distorted reflections
in cracked mirrors
kept hidden in bits and pieces
in the deep reaches of pockets
rubbing already scarred thumbs
across sharp edges
slicing flesh to the core
the only way she feels alive
for words change
and are temporary
though some stick
like gummy sidewalk trash
...when she is alone
in the darkness
and solitude of herself
she pulls the bloody shards from their hiding places
carefully arranging an image
of brittle distortion
trying to get the pieces to fit
trying to see past conflicted images
not lining up
something always missing
she doesn't see the answer
only more questions of devalue
she is
as simple as a flower in a field
with yellow arms and brown eye
looking for the sun
and not seeing it
missing the beauty of just being
missing the beauty of she.


...the highlighted line is Jonathan Sterling's words...poets had to write a number of similies. later, one poet would pass on one of the similies to another poet, and have them write off of that particular line. this was the result..