Mirage by R.E. Brooker

Journal, Writing

I am ME

This is SHE

Hiding behind paper masks

Shadows of silk unfolding….. I am not


The Dentist-Wide grin as she unplaits her hair,

hair like a lion’s mane.

Royal. Untamed.

The makeup here is a palette.

It does not define what is yours or what is mine.

Look not at the shell you inhabit, but, rather, embrace the skin within


All of your flaws, fears, worries, and tears

What you see on the silver screen are mosaics of dreams

Cheeky facades, ghosts that haunt your every waking scene

The players in those scripted games mean nothing here

They are just words upon a page, directions in the margins….

Cuts. Retakes. Lunch breaks.

That is what is real.

And yet, underneath, the dazzling heroines that dance across each of the scenes, whether ballrooms, perfect dates, or full moons beside the sea

always seem more real…..than you…..and me

The mirror is not reality

It is only a mirage

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