The Mirror That Lied to Me

I looked in the mirror
and saw someone
I didn’t know.

The eyes were mine.
But the fire was gone.

The jawline,
tight from biting words
I couldn’t say.

The shoulders,
tired from holding weight
I never asked to carry.

The smile,
taped on
fragile,
like it might crack
if someone looked too close.

I asked the glass,
“Where did I go?”

It didn’t answer.
Just echoed my silence.

I wasn’t always this way.
I remember light.
I remember laughter
that didn’t feel like effort.

Now I rehearse emotions
in the reflection,
trying to look
the way they want.

But deep down,
I know
I am not this mask.
I am the ache beneath it.
I am the scream
that doesn’t echo.

Maybe one day,
the mirror will show me
not who I’ve become,
but who I still am
beneath the dust.