Mirror.

I look in the mirror every morning.

I look into the eyes of a girl, who is so tired.

I brush her hair and paint her face. Yet no matter how much I paint and plaster, I can’t hide her eyes.

This girl, just wanted a few things. To be loved, to complete her dreams, to be appreciated, and to belong somewhere and not feel misplaced.

I’ve failed her. I keep telling her that we’re going to do it, make it, etc.

Yet, I hide her underneath my womanly ways. I tell her to be quiet and let the woman, who knows more, talk in the conversation.

Every day I go home, and I wash off my paint. It swirls down the drain. She stares back at me; she knows what I’ve done, she knows I’m leaving her behind.

They want me to, is the excuse. Slowly, I can feel the magic slipping through my hands. My dreams are becoming…well dreams, incomplete and something one day, I might look back and laugh at.

She’s so disappointed. What I haven’t told her is, so am I.

I’m so disappointed in who I’ve become. I can barely look in the mirror and not cry.

 

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