I gazed at the mirror thinking, “Damn I’m a sexy bitch.”
Nature was good to me, and blessed me out of this race to be absolutely wonderful.
My mirrors are most helpful in my never-ending endeavour at convincing myself of my superiority.
Stoking my egg-ish ego gave me much desirable pleasure;
I loved to woo my reflection as if it were my mate.
One of the best things about loving the best was being priapic.
Well that made me hot and bothered anytime.
My stomach grumbled, so I popped a strawberry in my mouth.
Slowly, I chewed it savouring the juices left behind.
I am content in pleasuring myself with pleasant activities.
My only ill wish is when the sun dies on the horizon;
I want it suspended in the sky overhead, illuminating me.
If I had to dance to keep it there I’d do it.
Once the forest that I reside in is lit with morning sunshine,
I bellow a long breathy holler.
I am greeting the day,
thankful for the light to observe my unnaturally glorious self.
A repetitive weakening echo always resonated at my calls.
Echo always responded back,
carrying over the tall trees.
Never in all my life had echo the gall to show themself to me,
even though echo whispered their love to me.
Never do I feel loneliness for my reflections provided the best company.
The mirror me would converse with me, argue intelligently,
and love me wholly.
I felt complete,
the world provided for my benefit.
Food is generous,
and the mirrors?
Oh my, they are divine,
and give me pleasure to live.
Many years later when I am wrinkled and grey,
my reflection is still of that vivacious youth.
Alive and utterly sexy,
no one will convince me otherwise.
It’s the best of myself that shines through,
imperfections are discarded,
for I only see the beautiful side of me.