my full-length mirror is shattered

I threw it to the floor two summers ago

when I picked it up, I was horrified to see its scarred face

becoming my reflection

throwing its brokenness right back at me

what a senseless day.

I can’t get rid of it, that trash picked mirror

I should put it with the trash where it belongs

but it’s my trash and I love it

and I look in it and it holds me.

as if bewitched, my mirror takes in my face

and breaks into a prism of insanity

just as everyone who sees me

sees me through the reflection of their truth

which they press into me with their minds’ hands,

as if to reflect their truth in my life, my future

as if to define me—but there’s no end of this dictionary

of identity, and among the thoughts and prayer that define me,

there’s no end in sight, and who I am is elusive;

the girl I am slips through the cracks of the mirror,

bending down on my knees, to the level where there are no cracks

to see who I am, short, a hunchbacked smile, a flash of retrospect.

my identity, like sand, slips through the fingers of rock I’m battered against

slips through the openings and joins the windy sea

for one day, I will stand up, turn around, walk out

and be myself and never let people tell me who I am

but for now, there’s only the midnight bedroom

where I sleep alone

and waking up, my face appears—

too many lies

too many mood changes,

too many tears,

oh, until the day comes on

when I throw my jar of selves to the ground,

and spill them like oil

there’s only the steadfast darkness

and too many mirrors.