Mirrors

There’s a girl, standing behind the mirror. I watch her through the glass, yelling. Who knows if she hears me?

She quivers in fear, and the mirror shakes. I smile slightly at the damage done to my own soul as well as hers.

Sometimes, I can’t see her anymore. I just see me. And yet the criticism won’t let up for a single second.

Eventually her back will break from the weight I put on her, on myself. Did I mean for it to go this far?

When a puddle of tears ends up beneath both of our feet, I’m not sure who they belong to anymore.

Sometimes, she has her own mirror to hide behind. But I still see me. And the criticism won’t let up for a single second.

Someday, we’ll all end up in a hall of mirrors. We each see ourselves; we each deny what our eyes show us.

A word flowing in every single direction but straight in front of us, and no one knows how to feel hurt anymore.

Sometimes, I feel the weight of the mirror I carry for the world. And I can’t see me, and it’s not my words that I hear.

An endless circle, and we can’t find where to cut it.