Conversations I Had With the Mirror

I looked into the mirror and asked, “Who are you?”

She stared back — cracked, but somehow true.

Not the girl they see in passing days,

But someone stitched from shadowed ways.

I asked her why she looked so tired,

She whispered, “Because I’m always wired —

To smile when hurting, to nod when torn,

To wake every day feeling slightly worn.”

I asked her why she still believes,

She said, “Because hope’s the thread that weaves

Through all the chaos, fear, and shame,

The tiny flame that still knows my name.”

The mirror didn’t lie, but it didn’t flatter,

It showed me scars, it showed what matters.

It reminded me of what I’ve faced,

Of battles fought and fears embraced.

“Do you still love me?” I finally said.

She smiled, “Even when you wish you were dead.

Even on days you disappear,

I’m right here — your soul is clear.”

So now each morning, we speak again,

Not as enemies, but long-lost friends.

She may not always smile back at me,

But she's the bravest face I’ll ever see.