The cracked bathroom mirror catches me

The cracked bathroom mirror catches me

with a crease in my brow I didn’t want,

a jaw set too hard,

a mouth half-turned away but still watching.

Last night’s phone call left its mark,

a weight pressing like water against glass.

I promised I wouldn’t be them,

wouldn’t live inside those stories of anger and fear.

But the mirror doesn’t lie—

scars are inherited in small, sharp lines,

and sometimes the hardest person

is the one staring back,

waiting to be recognized

or finally understood.