Look in the Mirror

Pointing fingers,
fingers pointing
to everyone but yourself.
Blame is an easy exit,
no traffic and accessible
from any angle.

What angle
will you access next?

I flick away your daggers
like mosquitos, eyes closed, flailing
until you run out of ammunition,
and just when you think you have me
in a corner, I claw my way out,

bounce back, like your lies will
when truth floats to the surface.

Rumors are superficial
and my skin is getting thick
like the air when you speak,
but, at the end of the day,
we both have mirrors.

What do you see in yours?



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