In fact, I obsessed over my reflection this morning

You were writing as I woke up,

As my unconscious mind was telling me,

“You have a moral face...

Did you look in the mirror today?”

And she grasped my chin

And I looked at her Lindsay Lohan eyes

And realized that I

should never have been Jean

but Jane: plain Jane.

I should make my face in the morning

because it’s not enough for

the woman in my head, and

I can read their expressions when they look over

 

my appearance. I worry

that I lost my heart and self

in this house where I grew up

and stayed too young for too long

and I didn’t understand.

Things became complicated,

polysyllabic, and I

pursued the intellect and

left behind the girl.

It’s all now a holiday

where I’m restricted by need

and my siblings fight over

who will have my attention

and wish to split me in half

so I can spend time with both

equally.

 

A storm builds its towering cloak of clouds

and exacts all the rain upon arrogance

until it’s soaked through and cold to the core

and scarred with the unrelenting hail

and wind-beaten until it falls from this bridge

and that moral face will shine up

from the moon-flecked beach.