My sister creases her eyebrows with a melodramatic pout and BAM my phone unlocks

My brother, with a satirical smirk gleams at its camera and BAM the same outcome

Within one singular moment, they have access to all my inner secrets and privacy hidden behind the locked screen.

And though it just seems like a software error on apples half, the suspenseful irony is louder than the sound of my phones screen hitting the cold hard and textured pavement.

My reflection, nothing more than the people around me.  

If I were to submit my personality of Turn it in, I fear that it would highlight all the words I have spoken, asking for my references. It would clear me of my ideologies and leave a blank page titled ‘what was original’. Grammarly, would suggest better words and underline my lack of structure. Google docs would warn me that my ‘new draft’ is not yet saved with my improper connections and safari would constantly warn me of possible identity theft.

I’m scared if you get close enough you will find that I am a puzzle made of lost pieces. The completion, a tactile experience of misfits, lifted with bent ends, forced together to create an abstract image of everybody else.

The endless hours spent in confusion, the restless eyes searching for a border, only to find that the picture doesn’t reflect the image on the box.
the image that you expected
The image that you desired.

My mirror, smudged with fingerprints of someone else, angled away from my body only reflecting the people I am ought to become.  

I fear that if a mirror could talk, it would expose me of all that, to which I have stolen.

Most of all, I fear that once you unlock the phone, see the puzzle, gaze into my mirror you would find an idiosyncratic reflection that I do not yet recognise.