One of Those Poems

I also like making things up, as if
that wasn’t what just happened
just now, again: I was embarrassed by the mirror.
I always am. I used to think it was important
to see oneself to feel good, hence I put it there
for you; when really, you want to hide away:
you just aren’t childish enough to say that yet. And it is all

technique, technique. When we could have just said yes
before guessing, getting lost, checking in: you’d tell me
to shut the fuck up—fair enough—a synonym
I understand. Then we’d get it out the way, no mirroring.
What are we playing at now? Can we not kick our friends out?
Does it matter how it looks? Does it matter
how it sounds? Because I don’t believe a word you say.