Shadows in the Mirror

We have these shadows,

these echos of ourselves.

My own face, reflected

back at me a million shards

over in that broken pane

of glass above my bed.

I see my own shadows,

growing from beneath

my eyes until they form

another me, another time.

In these parallel words,

Who am I?

She pulls up her sleeves

to those parallel lines,

one for each insecurity.

She pulls down her hood

to cover the glistening in

her eyes, hidden in the

darkness writhing within.

She snakes her hand through

another’s, willing to be

whomever they need her to be.

As long as it isn’t herself.

She drowns in her own bed

because it’s not worth facing

the saturation of the sunlight.

In these parallel words,

Am I any different?

What if every version is equally as broken as the next?

We have these shadows,

these echos of ourselves.

I watch them with closed

eyes through the cracks in

my mirror, fearful of the

blood-stained shadows.

Fearful that I might be

looking at myself.