bittersweet candies

there were pit stops which

reminded me

of a time to escape

from the monstrosity

of Raman’s futile attacks

on the imperfect curvature

transcending above my belly,

as the few speared

marks made their appearance;

it’s a circus of my misery

translated into fifteen languages

by each member in my class

as the four soldiers by my side

fought for its censorship,

knowing all the while

that even the few prickly visible

lines will tell a tale

of fright, of a gore unable to be

scripted in the burning pages of the novels

for Raman has authored a comment—

which appears not miniscule anymore.

mirrors, once a friend now bitter foe

echo the sentiments of dear Raman, an affair they began

beyond the gaze of my comprehension as their loyalty

shriveled up into a cowardly confetti layered

with repeated assaults of comments so endearingly similar.

the pit stops landed in candy shops, a place i could call mine.

the dusty glitter of a scattered assortment of silver freckles over

gummies—accompanied with the caramel gentlemen oozing with

a delicacy i could devour for days; mine.

Raman was invasive too. 

for a forgetful moment he extracted

these innocents, misled them and we fought. 

for a forgetful

moment, i couldn’t call them mine. i still pay these

gentlemen a visit, even though i’ve

now grown up, and they find residence

in old age homes. hoping to revive the yearning

i once had for these pit stops

I befriend the mirror.