Angele Toomey Poetry

I think this poem, written about five days ago is pretty self-explanatory!

A study of my face
The face in the mirror
Is becoming strange to me
Not because of
the lines that come with age
or the wintering of my hair.

I can see it in my eyes
those cataract glazed lenses
seeing less of the
world and more of me.
A quickness to anger
unresolved PTSD
and too little optimism.

I am becoming hardened
more insular
as trust takes loner
and ill deeds register
more accurately, quicker.
I don't think I can 
maintain the ruse: smile,
even if it will make 
you feel better.