Mirror’s Lie

I stood before the fogged glass, breath warm and thick,

watching the sneer twist—hers, mine, a cruel trick.

The steam blurred the edges, but not the hard line

of a mouth I swore I’d never wear, not mine.

A twist, a curl, the shape of old anger breaking skin,

a reflection slipping sideways into something thin.

I blinked, hoping the face would shift back, betray

that I’d fooled myself in the dim light’s gray.

But no—there she was, stitched beneath my skin,

a warning I forgot, a shadow worn thin.

The moment I swore not to be either, I fell,

caught in the mirror’s lie, a trapped carousel.