A Reflection, A God, and Me | Teen Ink

A Reflection, A God, and Me

October 30, 2022
By LuAvnne GOLD, Corpus Christi, Texas
LuAvnne GOLD, Corpus Christi, Texas
13 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
You don't feel something till you feel it.


Four corners, sometimes none.

Sometimes clean, and sometimes not.

Rounded? Sharp? Yes, that's it.

Something we see, if seem fit.

Sometimes a joy, sometimes mean.

It’s different for everyone,

Just not me.


I don’t see me but someone who isn’t.

Nothing but a fake that everyone sees.

Sees skiing that’s supposed to be thick and firm,

But it is nothing but made of glass that cracks by the touch.

Through this reflect, who do I see?


Who am I?

The vaguest question I’ve ever thought.

A question without an answer with many possibilities. 


And still; as I stand here still looking before me I reach no conclusion. 

Looking into a face.

A face that is meant to be mine.

The translucent tears have dried leaving no traces behind. 

Yet I see it, all of the traces left behind. 


And so do these walls behind me.

Even though the four cornered statue sees, it doesn’t see all. 

Not like what the walls do. 

The statue hangs soundlessly still on the wall,

While the wall is connected to all.

The walls are the real gods.


Connected to every inch of this house.

A house that me and my family live in as guests.

The walls see and breathe the tears that run down the sides along my face.

The walls hear what I am not able to hear. 


To hear what my mother and father really talk about when the room is bare. 

What my brother truly does when the room is bare.

Where my cat sleeps for hours to no end.

Or where my dog decides to lay rest after running in the hot fields. 

And now the walls see, hear, and stare before me. 


Yet cursed to never tell the tale.

Or to be let to say, “Hey I think she needs some help.”

Even if these walls could talk, they cannot. 

So why be bothered with the thought? 


Four corners, sometimes none.

The stature that reflects my imperfections at me is like a stab.

A wall that’s connected to all.

Walls that hear all like a god.

And little old me that will never reach answers.

Never reach expectations. 

A reflection that one day be mine, but for now I will try.

Try to reach for why could never be reached.

Try to be what others see.

Even if the cost is me


The author's comments:

To all the people who feel like this at least for a second.


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