Mirror
Are you the person
you see in the mirror,
or just the face
you’ve practiced wearing?
The glass is transparent,
yet only in fragments.
It shows the skin,
but never the void.
It reflects the smile
you learned to assemble,
the posture of someone
who you want others to see.
But where is the trembling
that hides behind your ribs?
Where do the unspoken words go
when no one is watching?
If the mirror could turn inward,
would it recognize you?
Or would it hesitate,
searching for the version
you keep hidden in daylight?
Maybe we are both
the reflection
and the distortion.
Maybe the self we chase
is a shadow
that slips through the glass
and waits for us
in the empty room behind our chest.
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