Harsh Reflections

Dressed in twilight, I catch a glimpse,

a flickering bulb buzzing like static air,

it frames my collarbone, pale against white—

a raw honesty that feels like exposure.

I hesitate, caught in this harsh glare,

every flaw bared, nothing left to hide,

a beacon of imperfection under fluorescent light,

where the mirror mocks my sudden stillness,

with shadows creeping close, drawing lines in stark black,

like the outlines of my doubts, they curl around my skin.