My mind replays the world like a film set on rewind—
each step, a loop of what if, each breath a rehearsal
for the script no one’s written. My thoughts, a river
of should have, could have eroding their own banks.
I wear my skin like secondhand shadows,
all blemishes and unspoken apologies.
My voice, a fragile bridge—
each syllable a crack in the wood,
each pause a fear of collapse.
I am glass.
I am the tear that trembles on the edge of itself,
doubled in the mirror’s unyielding eye.
My hairline, a question mark in the fog of my youth,
my face a map of pittances and valleys
I refuse to let dry.
To be disliked is to drown in a room of my own silence.
So I bend, I fold, I become the yes
that swallows the no.
I’d carve my name into the ocean
before I’d etch dissent into the world.
Mirrors are traitors.
They never show the self I sculpt in secret—
a face unbruised by my thoughts,
a body unchained to the weight of not enough.
Instead, they return the liturgy of my failures:
a forehead too low, a chin too soft,
an absence of light where I once dared to flicker.
When the night opens its mouth to swallow me whole,
I press my palms to the glass,
begging for a reflection that isn’t mine.
But the mirror only weeps with me—
a silvered pool of all I could never be.
And in the morning, the tears calcify like old vows,
leaving salt-circles round my eyes,
and the question:
"What if the star isn’t in the sky,
but in the shaking of a hand,
unseen,
alive, mine?"
-
Author:
haleyalexis (
Offline) - Published: December 31st, 2025 01:14
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
"I become the yes that swallows the no" is my favorite line. This is a heavy, moving, impactful piece. Well written. Thanks for sharing.
This piece moves with a quiet ache, like someone trying to hold their balance while the world keeps shifting beneath their feet. I felt the honesty in every line—the way you let the reader sit inside that tension between wanting to stay strong and feeling the weight of everything pressing in. There’s a tenderness here, a kind of courage that doesn’t roar but still refuses to disappear.
Your imagery lingers, especially the moments where vulnerability becomes its own kind of light. It’s the kind of poem that reminds us that even in the hardest seasons, the heart keeps speaking, keeps reaching, keeps trying to make sense of the storm. Beautifully done.
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