arqios

lights turned inward

 

I was taught to polish mirrors

that never showed me back—

a child bent into reflection,

a servant of glass.

 

Their voices were lanterns

turned inward, hoarding flame.

I learned to speak in refraction,

to wear masks that smiled

without teeth.

 

But silence, too, is a teacher.

From the hollow rooms I carried

a stubborn ember—

not theirs, not borrowed—

a light that refuses

to bow to glass.

 
 
 
 
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