Lorelei said “sestina,” and this is what popped out.
I can see myself twofold in the mirror –
the easy choice to be a wicked witch;
much harder to find forgiveness, truth,
and love. Thus and so, I feel my way
stumbling through the thicket of roses, blind
and insightful: a paradox, defined by doubt.
Ironic that the thing I never thought to doubt
is now my downfall. If I look in the mirror
I don’t recognise myself. I am a cliché. Blind
with tears, my reflection wavers. The witch
I thought I could be mocks me. The way
I saw myself is hollow, emptied of its truth.
I want to scream at you to tell me the truth,
but there is no truth anymore. Only doubt
that undermines every utterance. No way
to trust you, or my feelings. The mirror
is dark and unreliable, as if that witch
had cast a spell on it, and made me blind.
For a moment, I found hope, but it was a blind
alley. You turned on me and questioned the truth
in my desire. Suddenly, I’m the wicked witch
again: I’m not kind; I’m manipulative. I doubt
myself in new ways. I thought your eyes mirrored
my regrets, but we were not facing the same way.
I want our bright love to last, not fade away.
Is this just an after-image on my eyelids? I’m too blind
to tell. I cling to bleak hope. I don’t want the mirror
to show me what I dread. The truth
is, that all I really have left is doubt
in my intuition. But I’m an oracular witch.
If I were not me, I would bewitch
you with a kiss, and force you to turn away
from the path you’re taking. I don’t doubt
my powers.Well, I do, but I could blind
you. But that would be a love without truth,
and I’m greedy. I don’t want a plastic mirror.
I doubt anger will help, which is the only
reason the mirror isn’t smashed. Don’t go away.
That’s my truth. I keep loving, blindly.