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Arielle Jan 2019
A piece of myself,
but just a sliver.
I try to see more,
but the pictures unclear.
A crack down the center.
I'm cleaved in half.
A shard is missing.
No way to get it back.
The mirror is broken.
My reflection a mess.
A piece of me missing.
A crack through my chest.
A crack 'cross my brow.
Mirror broken and shattered.
My smile is torn.
My appearance battered.
I took one more look
in the mirror to see...
It wasn't the mirror that was broken,
but me...
Arielle Jan 2019
When the lights fade,
and the people have gone,
what part of you remains?
You step back
through the door
and begin to drop the chains.
Waving goodbye,
you hang up your masks.
One facade, then the others.
The weight of the world
gone for the night.
You're no longer being smothered.
First comes the one you wear to work.
The smile filled with lies.
Second comes the family face.
The one that screams "I'm fine."
Third you have the mask for friends.
Perfection through and through.
With all those masks hung at the door
there's nothing left to do.
You look up to the mirror and
reflected back you see.
The person staring back at you
is the person
you were always meant to be...
Arielle Jan 2019
To be vulnerable
is to be real.
Raw.
An open book
for all to read...
But which hurts more?
A soul bared to all the world,
or a true self shown only
to a few?
The intimacy of vulnerability
is a line few dare to cross.
We live our lives alone.
Afraid.
Begging for someone, anyone,
to reach out and say "I see you."
But not just to say it.
To mean it!
To know us;
The real us
And to love us anyway...
Arielle Jan 2019
Staring from the sidelines.
I'm told just what I'm not.
I'm not pretty.
I'm not perfect.
And I just don't belong.
My teachers say I'm special.
"Wise beyond my years."
I'm not liked.
I'm not included.
But, at least I've got their cheers.
I approach it all with kindness.
Trying hard to be.
Someone who is trusted.
Someone who is seen.
The unfortunate reality is
that's someone I'll never be...
Forever I'm the outcast
with nothing left to lose.
They say that I'm not worthy,
but who says they get to choose?
Arielle Jan 2019
Metal tore,
biting flesh.
Windows smashed
as pavement met.

Broken bodies
hit the ground.
No lights, no sirens,
just silence sounds.

Pouring rain,
red fades to black.
Hands reach out
with no reach back.

There in the ditch
as red flowed free.
A single rose
could be seen.
Arielle Jan 2019
What do you see
when you look at me?
The mask I wear to
present to the world?
Or, do you truly see me,
the real me hidden behind?
Do you see the scars
and look away in disgust?
See the broken and
look on me with pity?
My pain, my scars,
they are my story.
Do I dare let you read it?
Will you turn the pages quickly,
or slowly take your time?
When you're finished,
will I become a book forgotten on a shelf,
or a cherished read,
read time and time again;
committed to memory?
If I gave myself to you completely,
no masks,
would you look at me with eyes of love
or hand me back my mask and say...
"You look better this way."

— The End —