Mirrors and Pastel Dust

I was 4 years old the first time a man ruined my worth.

Sitting on the knee of my ‘uncle,’ confused by his hand.

“I love you so much. Don’t tell, or your mom will get hurt.”

Though if I am honest, more damage comes from my dad.

He wanted a son, but instead got a useless daughter.

Though according to him, he probably wasn’t ‘that bad.’

The next one was coy and a charmer.

First loves are like the side of the moon that’s darker.

Deceit taints the plucking of my flower.

When I got married, I changed my personality and name.

His words still echo when I look in a mirror.

He shattered my reflection and filled me with shame.

The next man to break me showered me in pastel dust.

Taught me that I’d never be good enough.

He snorted poison and left my soul to rot to rust.

You’d think at some point I’d learn not to trust.

But I knew in my heart that I had to be strong;

It took years, but life is better without mirrors or pastel dust