We keep ourselves
behind tinted glass.
You see us, vulnerable yet obscured.
We radiate emotion, waxing and waning
with the passing hours. One moment
burning red and filling with air, the next
moment jagged and seeping with cold,
sharp edges navigating a rain of
flashbulbs and shadows.
We live inside prisms.
You think you know us, but fragility is an
illusion. We are going 100 miles per hour
in 100 different directions, bleeding color
and living off darkness.
We thrive behind armor.
Reflecting the outer world. Blurred together
in an imperfect patchwork of faces and fantasies.
Twisting and distorting and creating, pulsating
with originality, waiting for the right moment
to shed this mirrored skin.