A Mirror That Refuses to Reflect You

I stood before the glass,

expecting the comfort of my own face

a familiar constellation of scars and smiles,

the evidence that I exist.

But the mirror turned hollow,

its surface trembling like water

and swallowing me whole.

No outline, no shadow, no proof

as though I had never been.

Was it protest?

A silent rebellion against the lies

I’ve rehearsed to myself each morning

“I’m fine. I’m whole. I belong.”

Perhaps the mirror knew better,

that some truths weigh too heavily

to be dressed in skin and bone.

Perhaps it refused to echo the mask

I’ve worn for years without flinching.

So I stood in absence,

an erased sentence,

a ghost haunting its own body.

And in that nothingness,

I discovered a strange freedom:

without reflection,

I was not bound to what I’ve been.

I could be anything

a sky unclaimed,

a river unnamed,

a soul unchained from yesterday.

The mirror did not betray me

it freed me.