Do you see the privilege of my bubble, or the experiences that make me, me?

Look at my mirror through the reflections of my bubble and tell me

        What

                    Do

                                You

                                            See?

A piece of glass or the pane of pieces that pain me?

Let me tell you of the boy who wanders

And ponders the mirrors of others when he discovers

The pieces of glass from his past in the rubble of the other’s bubble

A mirror was once more than just a reflection

I used it to put down others to avoid rejection

From my bubble, the mirror gave my insecurities protection

Through a projection of aggression fronting perfection

I never made the connection

That the friends that I thought I had

Were really

Just the friends that I thought I had

And that by heeding to their command

To never take a stand

They had placed the mirror from my hand

Into a bubble blown that was not my own

Reaching for the protection of a mirror to avoid the conception,

I was alone

For in the bubble I had blown

Acceptance was the priority

And perspective was last

From the exterior of a bubble that is not my own, a mirror appears whole

But within the bubble, a mirror appears as the pane of pieces of a soul

Bubbles are re-blown when they burst under pressure

But mirrors shatter into pieces that last forever

To serve as perspective

By those who see

The pain of piecing together a pane of perspective

From the glass rubble in the bubble of the other