the armor is a lie
just like the cape is.
it’ll really just get caught in the propeller
while you’re skydiving.
it might as well be another mask
you wear to a ball.
it’s all gloss and glitter,
smoke and mirrors
and the world continues to spin madly on.
are you spinning
or doing the spinning?
if you flip upside down
but your eyes takes images and flip them
are you flipped or are you flipping?
can you be the one to do the action
or the one to have the action to you?
you don’t control it all anyways
except your smile.
smile at him
smile at me
smile in the mirror
and recollect your thoughts
the mirror might be fogged up from the steam in your mind
it might be a little cluttered and misshapen
but your soul is still there,
it’s still a light even if it’s covered up.
let’s find a shovel to move out all this dirt
and see what treasure we find.
a gem, a peach, a saint, or something else all together.
let’s find it, label it, box it,
and understand it.
then years later when we’ve accidentally buried it (again)
we’ll find that dusty old spoon
and dig like our lives depend on it,
because, well, it really does.
and, you know what, that’s just fine.
a cha-cha here and an electric slide there,
a mamba and the dougie there,
it’s all just moving.
you get points for just moving,
for just getting up–
for just waking up,
for daring to open your eyes
and take another breath
and try to conquer that day.
you get points for just being.