SELF-PORTRAIT IN A FUNHOUSE MIRROR By Gabriel Noel

A cliché really. A fantastic advertisement of twists,

of seeing what’s not really there. Every mirror of

every day distorts me & my dimples. All of me

wrapped up. Big tents darkening & closing in on

the lungs, the eyes, the way my knees buckle funny

when I walk. I keep looking into wobbling glass

hoping to find something holy. Something I can

thrust upward in triumph, something to keep above

the fireplace, something that calls me home.

Back & forth. I am stretched, shrunken, shaken. There

is music in the far distance, honking tonking all pinks

& purples. A siren howls through the fabric, lamenting.

At home my mirrors have all convexed. I am becoming

undone looking at myself now. Bared teeth, all those

yellowed wonders sharp & pointy, wanting & screaming,

“LOOK AT ME PLEASE LET ME BITE DOWN ON

SOMETHING TENDER FOR ONCE” & all the mirror

tells me is that I was never meant for a world this angry.

O’ god! I swear I’m better than the vile I cannot escape.

I swear the mirror lies and that I am not just some fleshy

symbiote thing trapped in a sweater made of someone

else’s memories. Every mirror of every day haunts

me & my dimples, makes me want to rip every molecule

of me out just to tell them “I’m sorry for your living conditions”.

ABOUT:

Gabriel Noel (he/they) is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet who received his Bachelor’s for Theatre Arts and English at Salem State University. Gabriel's work has previously been featured by Arachne Press, Jelly Bucket Journal, New Note Poetry, Moonstones Art Center, new words {press}, BarBar Publishing, & Querencia Press. Gabriel lives on the occupied land of Naumkeag (“fishing place”) colloquially known as Salem, Massachusetts and likes to spend time with his partner, go to concerts, make art, read, and visit karaoke bars. You can find more of Gabriel's poetry on Instagram at @peachpitpoetry and WordPress at: https://peachpitpoetry.wordpress.com/.

EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: David Cui & Lilith --- The Mirror Lies