Big mirror in my room

 

my room my room is more than four walls more like the great wall of china built with balled up architectural design. Most times its empty staring blankly at me like a clock on the wall. It’s not sprouted with plasma screens and Xbox lives though they are there in my head of cause and that is shit you won’t see because you not in my head. 80 per cent of the time I am not their but when am their then the ratio changes since I duplicate and play visitor and host all at the same time my silly neighbour calls me super natural.

If you beat on my phone when is face up stretching on my two in one mattress bed then I get cunning like the serpent hanging in the tree caressing the forbidden fruit. I switch my voice and read the lies straight off the ridges of my lion brand iron sheet hiding them in your ear drum not even gold miners can dig them out. They come dripping down letter after letter like am the modern version of tom sawyer with his skin in dark tinted emulsion. You know black is beautiful and am the definition and specimen of that line.

My room is addictive just like the small pans at the door that hung below my big mirror. This mirror is my best friend he sees right through me like Steve wonder and more blinder than Mitt Romney’s policies. It’s here that I pull off my David Beckham poses, holding my crotch exposes my storeys of muscle upon muscle as its lips stretch into timeless smile and massage my Tyson Beckford six pack That mirror is my coach where I practise those sick lines I use to woo females who load and clog my mail like paper planes. It’s in front of him where I learnt to dance though technically am still working on that technical bit of the jig saw ever since I watched the movie save the last dance. Am working on it and know will perfect it like bible stories I have read since the days when I was peeing in my pants.

When I got hurt that big guy gave me shoulder to lean on no hommo and helps me identify what fragrance worked magic on me by reading my facial expression.

The other day he told me to go shopping claiming my clothes were dejecting in the opposite direction to the calendar. He said my tie so thick my trousers weak and the shoes had been worn out week ago and since him my best friend dude knew when those pay check drizzles in.  At the flea market which my Mr Price in my head of cause I carefully chose what is deemed appropriate i.e. what last long like political promises. The stronger the material the better with less regard for the texture for smooth isn’t always gold any way.

At the slam of the door in my room, Mr Mirror jerk a little but won his position back quickly like an African incumbent leader. Quickly threw on the used clothes that in this case had been used for and wore my brightest smile for the big mirror. He quickly painted me with a huge approval smile then I moved to stage two. Practising the one two-step involving word play and locomotion with gait and swirl only birds would master. First recall the favourite line from my favourite movie and dress rehearse it with fly like a bird sting like a bee footsteps. The kind of gait that turn a good girl into a weed chimney type. With this in check and everything rolling with the approval of Mr Mirror at the door like an air balloon dancing azonto. The third step is to wipe Mr Mirror is wipe with soft cloth clean and wake up for he don’t even exist neither do I have a room.

 

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