No Faith in Mirrors

The mirror lies again.

Tells me I’m fine,

but I can see the cracks

behind my own eyes.

Every reflection looks tired of pretending.

I try on smiles like shirts that don’t fit.

The glass keeps secrets I can’t admit—

I blink, and the truth blinks back.

There’s a stranger living in my skin,

he talks too much, sleeps too little,

and wears guilt like cologne.

I don’t trust what I see anymore,

’cause my past keeps editing the frame.

Every scar’s a fingerprint

on who I used to be.

No faith in mirrors,

they only show the shell.

They never show the noise inside,

the part I hide too well.

I’m not what I was,

but I’m not new yet—

just a version that’s still loading.

I sold honesty cheap,

traded truth for comfort.

Now comfort’s gone,

and I’m broke with self-respect.

I count my regrets like blessings,

just so I don’t forget the cost.

I keep thinking I’ll find peace

at the bottom of reflection,

but all I find is me,

and that’s the problem.

Maybe forgiveness starts

when you stop looking for proof.

Maybe love isn’t lost—

just hiding in the blur.

I stare until the light fades,

waiting for something real

to stare back.

No faith in mirrors,

they never tell it true.

They show the body,

but never what it’s been through.

I’m learning to see without them—

learning that broken still means breathing.

So I turn the mirror to the wall,

let it face the dark.

If it can’t see me,

maybe it’ll finally rest.