these days i press delete on almost 89 percent of what i write
only to quell the loud resentful voice, or so i imagine
but the drought of epic proportions among my literary counsel
must be because i am different.
young features distort an aged mind.
the mirror becomes your worst accomplice.
but inside, you feel it, the slight uphill incline
that wasn't there before.
you kind of introduced me to myself.
you allowed me to open up
and find who I have been looking at
into that mirror that keeps telling me
time is slower than the measurement.
highlighting the prescription for futures.
as we close this door