I liked, the bottom of the barrel better,
I would sit, unnoticed, judge quietly.
And I could do this, I could,
I had a right, because, I wouldn’t share,
just breathe people in, and,
I knew myself then,
I hid in shadows, but I could still look in the mirror.
My intentions were good, just not played out.
Now, I stand, in bold and italics,
at times underlined. I judge,
with no right, and my intentions are questionable.
I breathe sometimes,
usually hairspray, exhaust.
I mean, I can still look in a mirror,
a reflection, fork of some sort.
Poke at my stomach, brush at my vanity.