Introspective Collective
a collection of letters

Written

Self's Reflection

 
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In light of the Morning Air, Morning Light book sale, I wanted to share a couple poems. These poems can be found on opposite ends of the collection. I often tell friends and readers that the story of redemption found within Morning Air, Morning Light wasn’t a one-time occurrence. I continuously go through cycles of the darkness of Nightfall, and the glory of the final chapter.

These poems reflect my struggle with self-acceptance. It’s not something that I have fully conquered, rather a healing process that gets better daily, with minor relapses. I’m still learning how to wholly and fully accept and love myself. I think I’ll be forever be a student to self-acceptance–digging into deeper and deeper levels of this self-love, seeing myself through the eyes of my Creator.


At least once a day

Hypersensitive, 
with every mirror, 
I stand in front of myself, 
staring eye-to-eye, 
mind racing rapidly–
its prominence paralyzes my physical being.

Slumped over, sunken eyes, 
lips slightly open.

Seeing this face, it isn’t my own–
cheekbones pronounced, they lost their color– 
which echoes the void in my voice.  

Eyes embody the outline of my pupil; 
they don’t smile anymore. 

Hair on the floor, 
and collecting between my fingers– 
short, brittle nails, 
bitten to mask their cracks. 

Tiny arms, too wide, 
I don’t remember a realistic size. 

Wondering how the wood would frame my face, 
or what color velvet, would match this
pale skin, hollow mind.

• • •

Breathing Spell

I catch my visual echo.

My eyes slowly scan a tired,  
yet trying, face.  

The in-between. 

Midnight hair, daylight skin. 

A balance, 
tipping at the weight of emotion. 

 But feelings are fleeting, 
and right now does not last forever. 

I can force the proportion to lean into progression–
if I keep trying, 
identifying and extracting, 
an endless pursuit. 

A pinch of peach, returning to my cheeks.

I bridge between this duplicate of my being–
as foreign as an old photo. 

Resemblances begin to arise. 

I remember these eyes, 
lining of my face, 
fuller hair.

I am slowly slipping into my skin, 
rather than an onlooker’s third-party perspective. 

I rub my hands together, 
hearing the gentle friction
of palm-between-palm. 

My skin, my body, 
a temple.


If you haven’t yet picked up your copy of Morning Air, Morning Light, it’s currently on sale for $10 w/ free shipping (and comes signed and with a Morning Air, Morning Light bookmark)! This sale ends 6/1 but you can order your copy here. If you’re local to Nashville, I’d love to hand-deliver!

If you have read Morning Air, Morning Light please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads!