Expectations Worn Like Fabric

In the glass, I catch glimpses, a figure unmade,

as expectations wrap tight, a heavy cascade.

Her laughter curls smoke, the air thick with need,

I swallow my truths, bury every last creed.

The fabric feels suffocating, stitched with intent,

a costume of duties that lead me to bend.

I turn from the mirror, my reflection's dismay,

yet inside, I wonder if there's another way.