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I Have a Broken Mirror

I have a broken mirror in my room. It is a full length body mirror, about 4 feet high, with thin plastic framing standing in the corner. This mirror had a history as a hand-me-down before coming to me, and to that history I imposed upon it my literal reflection every day as I woke up to get ready for school. The mirror in its previous unshattered state saw me crying at my most vulnerable and laughing with my most esteemed. It saw moments of intimacy, despair, fruition, exhaustion, loneliness and joy. I came to identify strongly with this mirror and the reflection I thought I saw projecting back at me. One night, as I drunkenly stammered back into my room, I heard a loud crash follow my footsteps and my blood trailing closely behind. As I picked up the mirror in a daze, I find in front of me, standing in the dark, a complex and beautiful array of shards standing upright in a cheap plastic frame. I tell nobody about the incident and continue to dress and undress in front of this shattered reflection of myself daily. My friends, like most who see this reflection of me, note […]
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If My Mother Birthed Your Fantasies

If My Mother Birthed Your Fantasies She would weep. Wail out the tears of generations to be destroyed by your stubbornness. Your absolute stupid thing, you know, that thing you do that really pisses me off. God damnit that thing!
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