Transformation

Jenn Viohl

Those cascading mirror images fling me right side up only to resemble something quite upside down. Isn’t it easy to forget to breathe? forgetting love, loss, and memory or to frown for such profound lack of touch

and so very much,

I used to wonder or used to care but despite used to it’s disrepair, left just like I left: wholly partial woman, and completely unprepared.

I repeat myself, I impeach myself, I repeat myself with the sound of a round, I am overthrowing this dictatorship.

My lungs collapse and black holes make maps on two hearts skipping to a single beat. Its superficial persistent nonexistence pulls to

epiphany number two girl, boy, thing, no one loves you for you not the way they used to, or ever will again as such a type of woman.

Life continues on this way, or so they say, and not one kind really ever stays defined because things and people change although strange for the rearrangement of such histories intertwined,

but I repeat myself,

what else can I say when reflected so steely grey and blue except I’ll miss some part of you.