The mirror cracked when I was young,
A fault line carved by careless tongues.
Each shard a scar, a silent scream,
That cut through every midnight dream.

They say that time can dull the pain,
But some wounds bloom like summer rain.
And every drop that touched my skin,
Just sank beneath what lies within.

I wore a mask that fit too tight,
Smiled in the day, cried out at night.
But pain’s a teacher, cruel and wise,
It paints its truths behind your eyes.

I learned to walk through shattered years,
With bloodied feet and bottled fears.
Yet, found in every fractured piece
A kind of grace, a strange release.

The glass still cuts, it always will,
But now I bleed with purpose, still.
For there is art in every scar,
And strength in knowing who you are.

The past can haunt, it doesn’t pass,
But there’s beauty in the broken glass.
A light that dances in the pain,
A rose that blossoms through the rain.