When you become the mirror,
People tend to think you can't see,
Can't hear.
To be a mirror,
To be the container of anger that boils just below the surface,
As if you were never there,
The anger so hot,
It feels like you're flirting with trauma,
Like you must hold your breath a moment more,
Or it’ll be their blood and tears on your floor.
But instead,
They're yours,
And you are comfortable this way.
Because any other choice, and you wouldn't last the day,
But who said anything about the day?
What about your week?
Your month?
Your year?
Even your life?
How many more times can you soak it in?
It can't be many,
Because you were not made to keep it in,
You were made to reflect.
So stop being the doormat where the blood and tears soak,
Be the mirror you were born to make.
This is for your sake.
If you don't bend,
You’ll break.
Then there’ll be a lot more than just your blood and tears smeared across the floor.
It'll be the glass shards of you,
And you'll be no more.
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 4:52 PM UTC
When you become the mirror,
People tend to think you can't see,
Can't hear.
To be a mirror,
To be the container of anger that boils just below the surface,
As if you were never there,
The anger so hot,
It feels like you're flirting with trauma,
Like you must hold your breath a moment more,
Or it’ll be their blood and tears on your floor.
But instead,
They're yours,
And you are comfortable this way.
Because any other choice, and you wouldn't last the day,
But who said anything about the day?
What about your week?
Your month?
Your year?
Even your life?
How many more times can you soak it in?
It can't be many,
Because you were not made to keep it in,
You were made to reflect.
So stop being the doormat where the blood and tears soak,
Be the mirror you were born to make.
This is for your sake.
If you don't bend,
You’ll break.
Then there’ll be a lot more than just your blood and tears smeared across the floor.
It'll be the glass shards of you,
And you'll be no more.
