Glass fragments capture my splintered sight, Kaleidoscope faces emerging in light.
Each shard a window, each surface a key
To territories of myself I struggle to see.
The first reflection—weathered, worn, and
wise Holds memories etched like lines around my eyes. Battles survived, wounds carefully sewn,A landscape of courage I’ve quietly grown.
The second mirror shows the moment’s raw truth: Neither my childhood’s dream nor my fading youth.Here I stand trembling, both fragile and strong, A melody playing between right and wrong.
The final vision—ethereal, bright—Whispers of futures just beyond sight. Potential unfurling like dawn’s tender flame,Refusing to be constrained by any name.
These mirrors are windows, these windows are doors, Revealing the self behind a thousand floors. I am not one face, not one simple view, But a constellation of all I’ve been through.
No comments:
Post a Comment