My Obession

October 8, 2013
Quiet obsessions,
Grab our eyes,
And hold our attention,
So we can’t help but look at them.

It’s the pull,
It’s the whisper
It’s the perverted wonderment of a certain object,
Even in it’s absence.

Invisible strings bind us to our obsessions,
We always try to hide them.
But I know the look of a quiet obsession,
Because It’s the same one that I hate every night.

I have a quiet obsession.
I never speak of it.
When I’m around others I can ignore it,
But when I’m alone it’s not so simple.

My obsession is Mirrors,
Not my reflection,
But the physical realm of the mirror
The mirror is where I’m content

When I see one my world stops,
My breaths slow.
There is only the mirror,
Just the Mirror.

It began when I was little.
In the vanity mirror my mother had owned.
Where she would sit and whisper,
Stories about magic mirrors.

As I grew,
My obsession became more great.
I would sit for hours just watching myself,
Looking into the mirror.

Eventually I would move,
Watching myself as I did.
I would feel power,
I would feel control.

The person in the mirror was my puppet.
I had the power to help her or to hurt her,
To make her laugh or to make her cry.
But that wasn’t what made me powerful.

I could cut her hair,
Make her bleed.
I thought the mirror was power,
Because without it I had nothing.

The obsession deepened when I got a larger mirror.
I would take in everything about myself.
My perfection, my flaws.
Outside the mirror I was nothing.

The mirror told me things,
Things about myself that no one else would.
I was introduced to myself,
Through the mirror.

Soon the mirror consumed me.
They became the truth of me.
The mirror was everything to me,
It had become my god.

I would stand in front of the mirror.
Waiting for it to speak.
For the longest time,
It never did, but I was patient.

One day it spoke telling me,
“To look closer.”
After that I spent all my time in the mirror.
Watching and listening.

The mirror was honest,
When others were not.
The mirror never lies,
Until last night.

Last night I was at a carnival.
I heard the whispers of people around me,
Describing the house of mirrors.
My breath stopped.

I made my way into the house.
Compelled by the promise of my obsession.
My heartbeat rose
Into a rapid rhythm.

I made my way through the house,
Stumbling towards the mirrors.
I tripped into the room.
My eyes met a sight that would haunt what was left of me.

I stood in a warped mirror.
The mirror showed me with a swelled head and very little body.
I back up quickly slamming into another mirror.
This one showed me as short and fat.

Horrified I began to cry.
The mirrors honesty had been false.
How could I know if things were real.
The mirror had lied.

I began to run,
The mirrors taunting me.
Finally I found the mirror with my normal reflection.
And that was when I screamed the loudest.

I could no longer believe the mirror.
Standing in front of those mirrors,
Was the first time I knew real fear.
I stared into the mirror only to have it spit laughter back at me.

I smashed my head into the mirror.
Cracks splitting like ice in it,
Blood dripping down my face,
Pooling on the ground around me.

In the shards I saw my real self.
I saw blood,
I saw pain
And I saw terror.

Slowly I examined the pain the mirror had brought me.
But even with my head throbbing I could still hear the sound,
Of the mirror still taunting me,
“Careful Child, Glass is sharp.”

Found Poem based of The article "Quiet Obsessions" By Laura Ward

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