Shattered Glass

You turn away, though your chest still pounds

with the cries you refuse to name.

Your eyes — stained with hidden storms,

red rivers where your silence wept.

I don’t know what the mirror told you,

but it lies with a cruel hunger;

it longs to steal your face,

to wear your sorrow as its own.

Fragile breaths go unnoticed

while its whispers grow louder.

But listen—

I see you, past the glass.

Give me the hammer,

or take it in your own hand—

either way, we will shatter this prison.

And when the shards fall,

you’ll remember:

mirrors can’t hold your music,

nor steal the courage that carries you forward,

nor bury the sacred flame of your dreams.

So breathe.

So rise.

You are worthy of joy—

more than any reflection could ever claim.