Looking Glass Self


Space has no meaning outside the boxes of the narrow and totalitarian;

it is tempting to see in

contrast to who I am and who I am now-

the mirror used to be so necessary

my reflection itself something countercultural,

something to be controlled and distrusted.

I am still

lost in cosmic all encompassing paranoia of some warning sign

or red flag I missed beneath the meaning the semantic game

of what you said and what you really meant has become

this obsession to unearth

the underlying dimensions

around me above me and through me-

of what I know MUST exist and yet, cannot quite grasp.

Reason follows so far behind the apprehension

sometimes its almost unrecognizable.

The right word is itself; elusive.

Usually impossible. By degrees.

Usually, I never find it at all.

Lost in thought, full of intention-

A million things I want to say, but I am speechless.

It is only a habit that I am usually alone.

This kind of ill-logic is biology and survival-

It is not “flawed”.

We all brace for the moment of impact regardless of who’s driving the car

I think

sometimes we misunderstand each other, Love.


The value of a promise

to the semantically obsessively insecure and in love.

Antecedents fall like echoes and shadows I am trying to decode

all this non-sense now


-Jesse Haydn

Published by Jesse Haydn Poetry

The written word is life. I am the proverbial poet-at-heart.

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