A Zillenial in the Mirror

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

I think I weave a tapestry as the threads of my many selves
trail behind my wandering way. But I see you:
the spider fooled and fooling about in that web
you never properly learned to weave. Soon enough the twisted
wires will wind about and catch you.
You have no chance to fly. Unmasked, the weaver
will be left behind then pulled apart.
You’re built up from each fracture of
who you are, and each is left
burning to forge you in the fire;
left behind as dross running
down to a molten sea of slag.
If you really look, you will
not recognize yourself.
I venture out into the void
then come home to the furnace;
what if the melodic breath of the bellows
speaks true, and who I hope to be…
is always the one
hidden away