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BROKEN MIRRORS by Natasha Yamala

Here’s a forethought on what you are about to experience. I read this poem a minute ago and I had to share it on this platform. in my search for inspiration, I stumbled on a piece of art that I not only think its beautifully written but makes me take a second look at Natasha and say, ‘there’s hope for you yet kid’. I hope it speaks to you like it did me.

Pastor, its not that i cannot see, its that i still see his image,
beyond the brokenness of the mirror,
even in the dark.
 
i promised myself never to do this
never to let him back in
he came in anyway.
 
i am powerless to his charms,
and he knows this!
he knows!
 
he takes me in with words gentle, breaking me to pieces,
carefully molding me back just to have me crash,
crash to the ground like fine glass.
 
he tells me i am what he needs, but of what use is a blind watchman?
i am constantly broken because he leaves me that way,
tells me never to rise, say i will never shine.
 
even when i tried, i never shined cos i believed him,  
i believed in him.
he made me that way.
 
Pastor! Pastor! Pastor!
i am slowly going blind, loosing weight, swaying,
swaying from side to side, hanging in the balance, on the fence, slowly drifting away from the face of my consciousness, the sand of my existence been blown away by the wind of time.
Pastor, i smell him on me, he smells so sweet, i fear he is close again, too close for comfort,
i fear he follows me everywhere and i am terrified.
And he doesn’t even care, he doesn’t!
Pastor help, i see the light, tho faint but with so much potency, i fear, i fear for life, for death, for him, for me, for that which is within me, for shall it be?
i plug my ears to look at him and close my eyes to listen.
I am the broken mirror and that which i fear is ME.
 
Written by: Natasha Yamala