some days, the mirror is not kind to me.
some days mountains have erupted across my skin;
and the bags under my eyes are full to the brim.
still, I ask myself,
“what would you do
if somebody talked to you
the way you talk to yourself?”
I have lived great enough for two people,
and seen things both grand and small.
but most days , when my eyes wander
to the mirror who glaresback at me ferociously,
I fade away, like the stars when the sun comes to greet them.
someday, I will learn to rise.