mirror image

it's just like Bono said:

that if we weren’t so alike

you’d like me a whole lot more.

i open the window of my world,

i wave my hands in the air:

look at me, i say.

i show you my rainbow painting,

the sunshine and the showers.

you raise your eyebrow

at my heart on my sleeve.

i am wasting time, you say.

i am a historian, i say,

and each of us in our stubbornness

holds our ground.

i try to meet your expectations

and mine

i know i disappointed you

but my heart wouldn’t let me

choose otherwise,

and just look at us now, thank God.

still, i’m driven by my imperfect choices

reflecting in your brow.

but see?

i show you my happy ending:

i explain, i take photos,

i reveal my innermosts,

i rejoice in my life.

i marvel at the engineering

of a plastic lego tower,

i make a garden,

i scrub the shower,

i read mysterious stories

with budding novelists.

i clean out the pantry,

i make tummies happy,

i delight in a dandelion,

i find sunshine,

i unpack teenage days,

i calm souls at bedtime.

i am good at what i do,

i am making the grade, i say.

i grow my hair, i tweak my waistline,

i become a gym bunny.

i drop four sizes, i seek your approval.

i do more sit ups,

i fritter away my days,

i love the beach too much,

i don’t teach.

i contain my tears,

i think about how much power

that letter

written nearly twenty years ago

still has over me.

i see my pretty headings and bewilderment

reflecting in your brow.

cos it’s you when i look in the mirror,

this is my black book, i say.

it’s my heart, here.

and i need you to hear me,

to see the world through my glasses,

to share my happiness-making,

to affirm my imperfectly beautiful journey.

but you’re not reading me, you say.