I keep staring at the mirror like it owes me something.
But all I see are fractures where light slips through.
My name feels like a stranger,
My reflection feels the same.
I feel myself unraveling in the endless space between.
One crack becomes a fault line,
and suddenly I’m breaking.
Try to hold myself together,
but even breathing feels like faking.
Shards of who I used to be are scattered at my feet.
I sift through all the pieces,
but none of them are me.
If breaking is a language,
then I’m fluent when I plead.
Try to understand the pain,
where my sense of self just bleeds.
I walk around in circles like I’m searching for a door.
But every turn I take just slams me back down to the floor.
I’m haunted by the outlines of the person I should be.
A silhouette that flickers when I reach for clarity.
I brace myself for impact,
but the crash is slow and quiet.
It’s a fading of the edges,
where my sense of self should lie.
Shards of who I used to be are scattered at my feet.
I sift through all the pieces,
but none of them are me.
If breaking is a language,
then I’m fluent when I plead.
Try to understand the pain,
where my sense of self just bleeds.
Maybe mirrors only show the things we’re scared to see.
Maybe I was always cracking,
with the weight of every 'me'.
If I could find my center,
maybe I could start to stand —
But every time I reach for it,
it slips right through my hands.
Shards of who I used to be are whispering to me.
Fragments of a future that I’m scared I’ll never see.
If breaking is a language,
then I’m fluent when I plead.
And maybe all these shattered parts are all I'm meant to be.