Under the Skin

I caught my reflection, a fleeting fright,

my ribs, an echo of burdens I bear,

under layers of fabric, tucked out of sight,

holding secrets and heartache, quiet despair.

In the thrift shop mirror, I learned the old art,

of hiding the scars where we think we are free,

but the cage I have built is an ache in my heart,

and the weight pulls me down, it's just me—can’t you see?