Looking inwards I see a bulb of liquid,
it moves and jiggles yet stands still.
but it is a story nevertheless, a twisted one.
It is the perspective of my abusers,
those who took my canvas and painted it in a slant.
Everything in this glassy haze is twisted and deformed,
barely completing one another in form.
It is quite unusual to be on this side,
It has been a journey,
one of conditioning and one of glory.
the slanted glass is not my mirror,
I am my own soul reflection,
projecting pent up redemption.
I am my own soul redemption,
projecting pent up reflection.