The Last Point is the Most Thought Provoking

Metamorphic

My gaze is anchored to my reflection

and I squint oceanic eyes, scrutinizing the parts of me that everyone else can see.

In a sudden, unanticipated movement,

my fingers dart up to brush aside a lock of hair.

A similarly abrupt motion

tugs down the hem of the shirt that I always sleep in.

After several minutes, I stop adjusting everything about myself,

even though I'm still not satisfied.

I stretch out my hand for a tissue and grimace at the familiar pain.

Retrieving my hand, I squeeze the finger with the paper cut that has been

hurting me all day.

Eventually, I stop dwelling on that, too.

I swipe the tissue across my lips,

transforming

my mouth from Hollywood shiny to natural and unadorned.

After sleep takes me, an angry man's face appears in my mind, his mouth wide in fury.

His fist rises above me, poised to fall full force.

I turn my head away from the coming blow and before my eyes is my mother, dying.

She sighs out her last breath and I feel like my heart has crumpled under that delicate expulsion.

My body, aware of my mind's distress, twists and tosses to get away from it.

Is it my mind or the distress that it's trying to escape?

It causes my blankets to wrap around me tightly in a chrysalis that no longer lets me move,

leaving me vulnerable to the torments that plague my mind.

Jeering, hateful words come out of the shadows.

I'm standing under stage lights, with caked make-up covering my face and a huge fancy dress.

All of it is uncomfortable and I want to be rid of it,

despite what my cynical audience thinks.

Dread overcomes me. The overwhelming thought is, suddenly,

What have I done?

Those stage lights fall before me, but they are now a bonfire.

Someone is throwing masks into the fire.

The masks have every expression, every different kind of face, but they're being turned to ash.

They are my masks! Someone has to save them!

I turn around, looking for someone to help me, and there he is.

He is obvious perfection.

Somehow, I know that I love him...

but when I embrace him, his fond and radiant smile becomes fangs, and his face becomes a monster's.

At last, I awake.

In a frenzy, I fight my way out of the blanket that encloses me.

Finally freed,

I stride toward that mirror whose opinion used to mean so much.

My arm muscles tense and my hand lashes out,

paper cut forgotten.

Something tumbles. Something cracks.

Now the glass is broken.

I look up at it to blink

in surprise

and something falls from each of my eyes. In the sink lie two circles of blue.

In fragmented reflections of the mirror, I see

my true green eyes: the color that I'd almost forgotten.

This time, I don't stare for very long.

Instead, I look around for whatever it was that tumbled when my reflection got broken.

There, in the trash can. It's lip gloss that I recognize,

although I feel like it belongs to some other girl.

I won't bother getting it out.

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Just thought I'd entertain you with something I wrote a while back, since I had ideas for a blog post today, but after a full day of work, I promptly forgot them.

On a different note, I built a parade route for my little people in City of Wonder!

Now they can march without distractions.
More importantly, I can zoom in and do nothing but watch my parades now.

It should also be noted that they have once again switched to fans and banners.  

I am convinced there is a pattern to this that I must decipher.