Photo Mismatch

That stiff smile,

a stranger’s grin pinned to paper,

awkward, flat—like a mask

I didn’t choose but must wear.

Beside the cracked mirror,

my tired face folds in, eyes caught

between morning and the glass,

real and the frozen image.

The passport laughs back,

a shallow curve, unblinking stare.

Mine carries years I can’t fake,

a slow crease that the photo forgot.

Two faces meet, one still, one shifting,

one stranger in my own hands,

and I wonder which is truer,

or if both have already lied enough.