Unseen Grace

“You’re beautiful,” he said, slow,

and I blinked—like light struck glass,

sudden and cold.

I caught my eyes in the cracked mirror,

a hesitant glance at what I never saw.

That word didn’t fit the shape of me,

not then, not that day.

I remembered bruises, harsh reflections,

the ways my skin felt too loud or too dull.

His voice hung between us, unsure,

and I wanted to shrink back, disappear.

Beautiful was a stranger

wearing my face,

and I was too tired to learn the name.