I don't share my mirror.
I have bowls and plates
Sufficient for guests
Though they are few.
But my mirror sees only me.

The space between
me and the mirror
holds assumptions,
questions, a palette
of colors that promise
they can paint away
my imperfections.

In the vanity of brushes
time sings of a much
younger me, but the
mirror is patient
as it waits for my
eyes to look into
its silver frame of reality.

In the rawness of morning
when I look into the mirror
I see my dad, my mother’s
bluntness, my daughter
who now travels across the moon.

I am growing more gracious
with the woman in the mirror.
I will never grow younger,
but I can grow bolder.

There’s no expiration date
on a dream or a day there
isn’t something to learn.

Mirror, I don’t seek you as
often as I once did…I now
spend my time trying to
be a person who reflects
the spirit of the best in me.

There it goes.
I tried—
thrice—
to catch it.

Slipped past me
like that summer
in the rain.

Wasted.
Desolate.
Alone.

It went away in tears.
They stream
down my dusky face,
slide
down the neck
where my shame hides.

You see,
Mother—
I am not blind.
I see it too:
a mirror to my being,
held up
in nails.

It’s vile.
It moves on its own.

And yes—
I hate me
just as much
as you do.

thirty years yet still
figuring out myself, I
relish in my strengths and
yet, I cannot face my
failings. when I look inside
the mirror, who do I see?

i'm a self destructive girl

prepared for you to leave,
my deepest insecurity, but
anymore than I can stop time
from pressing on, I cannot
stop the bomb from
ticking.

a mirror is by nature
distortion of perception
water bucket moon