Person in the Mirror

Reflections on the life of Weejars

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This room is hot

This room is hot.
As I open the door
The air is thick
And envelops me
Like a blanket.
I rush to open the window.
It is a sash
And threatens to come downimage
Like a guillotine
I prop it up with my drink bottle
It is a fair trade
No hydration in exchange for
Fresh air and a cool breeze.
But the air is still.
I wait and wait.
No sweet cool relief in sight.
I doze into a sweaty REM
And awake, hair plastered to the pillow.
Why is there still no air?
It is 3am, 4am, 5am.
When will the humidity break?
In the sweet dawn as an
Unknown bird starts mewling
And the light peeps through my curtains
I suddenly feel it.
And I wonder,
Why did I bother leaving the window open all night?


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Necessary but annoying.
We rely on them to take us everywhere
And we take them for granted.
Walk walk walk
We command them
And their silent protest is to slowly split and
Crack and create wounds so sore
We can but hobble along.
Damn it.
I want to go places.
See this.
See that.
Yet I am limping like 
A little old lady
Because of one tiny
I uselessly file and moisturise
Hoping to repair the damage but it is clearly 
Feet 1, Sarah 0

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I forgot to pack a towel.

This mistake reminds me that it’s been a long while since I have travelled.
I try to play cool.
I WILL NOT hire a towel from reception for $2
I do not want someone else’s arse wiping my face dry.
Plus, this will admit my failure.
So instead, I pound the streets in search of a $2 shop
For a towel that is all my own.
Alas, there are none nearby.
$39.95, $17.95, $24.95
Even Woolworths lets me down at $12.
I will not succumb to the hiring
And so, I find myself drying
With two tea towels for the price of one.