I look into the mirror
To search for someone real
And wonder what they see in me—
What do they think I feel?
How do they view my character,
This puppet with no strings?
Do they read the way I move,
The clothing that I wear?
And hear the thoughts I tell myself
Reflected in the glass?
Or are they blurred into refrain,
Caught behind a broken pane?
When I was young, I loved the spark
Of patterns, rules, and numbered things.
A mind that burned to understand—
But not the ache emotion brings.
I felt too much—each win a rush,
Each loss a flood I couldn’t name.
No one taught me how to swim,
So I built walls to block the blame.
I hid, I ran, I shut it down—
Each overflow, a threat to drown.
So I learned to think instead:
Why use my heart? I have a head.
Now, I flinch when they perceive
The good in me, when I succeed.
Their praise feels sharp instead of kind,
As if, somehow, they’ve been deceived.
They cheer, but still I feel exposed—
Each glance reflects what isn’t real.
Their gaze, a scalpel tracing seams;
A fraud I fear they might reveal.
I fit in like a puzzle piece,
Lying face down on the table—
Pressed to match a perfect frame,
Mistaken for the same.
I try to mirror how they feel—
Their warmth, their ease, their grace.
But through the glass it cannot pass
And I reflect a cold embrace.
I reach with words instead of warmth,
A mind that steps where hearts would leap.
They knock, but find a hollow sound—
A depth I’ve buried far too deep.
And as they drift beyond my reach,
I rarely chase, or ask them why.
We part like threads pulled from a seam—
Still woven, but untied.
I waste the hours on the floor,
Scrolling dreams I never start.
The list of things I swore I'd make—
A game, a poem, a work of art.
The sun slips in, then disappears—
I barely blink before it's night.
Another year collects like dust,
And still, no spark will catch alight.
Then I look into the mirror,
My face already wet with tears—
A storm inside I cannot brace,
And watch myself collapse.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 12:35 AM UTC
I look into the mirror
To search for someone real
And wonder what they see in me—
What do they think I feel?
How do they view my character,
This puppet with no strings?
Do they read the way I move,
The clothing that I wear?
And hear the thoughts I tell myself
Reflected in the glass?
Or are they blurred into refrain,
Caught behind a broken pane?
When I was young, I loved the spark
Of patterns, rules, and numbered things.
A mind that burned to understand—
But not the ache emotion brings.
I felt too much—each win a rush,
Each loss a flood I couldn’t name.
No one taught me how to swim,
So I built walls to block the blame.
I hid, I ran, I shut it down—
Each overflow, a threat to drown.
So I learned to think instead:
Why use my heart? I have a head.
Now, I flinch when they perceive
The good in me, when I succeed.
Their praise feels sharp instead of kind,
As if, somehow, they’ve been deceived.
They cheer, but still I feel exposed—
Each glance reflects what isn’t real.
Their gaze, a scalpel tracing seams;
A fraud I fear they might reveal.
I fit in like a puzzle piece,
Lying face down on the table—
Pressed to match a perfect frame,
Mistaken for the same.
I try to mirror how they feel—
Their warmth, their ease, their grace.
But through the glass it cannot pass
And I reflect a cold embrace.
I reach with words instead of warmth,
A mind that steps where hearts would leap.
They knock, but find a hollow sound—
A depth I’ve buried far too deep.
And as they drift beyond my reach,
I rarely chase, or ask them why.
We part like threads pulled from a seam—
Still woven, but untied.
I waste the hours on the floor,
Scrolling dreams I never start.
The list of things I swore I'd make—
A game, a poem, a work of art.
The sun slips in, then disappears—
I barely blink before it's night.
Another year collects like dust,
And still, no spark will catch alight.
Then I look into the mirror,
My face already wet with tears—
A storm inside I cannot brace,
And watch myself collapse.
