Hall of Mirrors

My writing adorns the walls of this
ridiculous, worn-down circus tent. Fitting,
that I’ve mastered both walking the tightrope
and cracking the whip. I jump, through flaming
hoops I set alight. I am the elephant,
the seventh clown stuffed into a clown-car.
A churlish charade. Watch. This is the part where
I shoot down all the tin-cans and pick the
giant plushie, a myth in and of itself.
This is where I both ride and turn the Ferris
Wheel by hand. Here, I am running this show
but no-one’s sitting in the stands. Here, I am
running a pyramid scheme involving
ringmasters and gullible children. Here,
I am running in a hall of mirrors,
constantly colliding with myself.


This is more of a blog for my writing than blogging in the form of writing, so don’t read too deeply into my poetry. I take bits and pieces of inspiration from various things, so even if I write a depressing poem about suicide, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I actually feel that way. I’m fine. I may be over-reading into things, but let me take this chance again to tell you that I appreciate all your support and concern. I count my blessings every day: I am, as ever always, grateful. Words fail to describe my thanks.

^now that’s a blog post.

regarding this piece, I’m not very proud of this piece but I’ve been dying to do this whole self-run circus image for ages. I love absurd dystopian images. Something about a run-down circus just screams POETRY to me, although I guess usually it’d be more about SCREAMING.

Filed under: Original


A member of Singapore-based writing collective /stop@BadEndRhymes ("/s@ber"), Valen dwells in the swamp of poetry. He has been published in various publications, including Anxious Poets Society, Eunoia Review and Quarterly Literary Review Singapore. He has performed his work at the Arts House, the Singapore Art Museum, and in various dingy bars.

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