Clouded

our twenties are spent running around in a house of mirrors – a ticket I can’t afford at an amusement park where I’m the subject of their humor, trapped in a maze with all eyes on me as I struggle to move forward without a clue of what I’m running to

mirrors that stretch me out like an inflatable mascot, with ragdoll limbs that fly about without any direction – a puppet to my surroundings, while others widen my sides and squish me to the ground as if I’m carrying a tremendous invisible load while hobbling aimlessly around

mirrors with eyes swiveling to follow my every move, with nervous smiles pasted on their unsuspecting faces, like a crowd supporting an already losing team as I scurry through narrow tributaries afraid to let anyone down, afraid to be left behind for every time I stop to simply breathe, all the different versions of me begin to scream

lured into a house of mirrors with false promises of freedom to express and images of success, vows of falling in love, an illusion of being blessed – telling us our twenties are meant to be the best time of our lives so we rush into the darkened house, suddenly burdened by stress, running amok, unsure if this maze is just a test or if this whole time we were promised a future that would be glamorous, one that would shine and glimmer only to find out it’s a maze of just smoke and mirrors –