When the Mirror Doesn’t Speak.

I am mistaken by the world for a girl who loves to party.

But in reality. I just want to close my eyes and forget that the world exists.

I wear a million masks- and the only place I am truly myself is within words that never fall into the right hands.

Our body remembers the heat of the day, or the cold. It shadows crowded pathways, and familiar places that no matter how much your mind has blacked out, your body remembers.

No one talks about it enough,

or maybe we are all silent writers hoping to be heard by the right people.

If you ask me what I dream of, Id tell you I dream about love, constantly.

Love that exists through words, and memories, and loyalty.

Love that sees through me, that wants to heal me.

Love that lasts.

Maybe that is everyone’s dream. But I think about it everyday, because not a lot of people see me for me.

I walk around with tired eyes.

Eyes that from a first glance tells a story of a million traumas and fears.

I wonder what people think when they see my eyes- I wonder if one day Ill meet someone with the same eyes as me.

****

I’ve had a million arguments with you.

I yelled at you, I called you ugly, I didn’t feed you, I didn’t care for you

I let you get unhealthy, I let you fall apart a million times

but you were the only person that was there for me.

-My reflection in the mirror.

We mistreat ourselves but we forget that we are the soul attached to the body.

How did I blame myself for getting raped? I was 14 years old.

Why do I blame myself for falling into meaningless relationships- and endless hookups, when in reality, was the only way I could get control back after the rape.

Yet I look at myself in the mirror, and I hate that I dont know what love is- or how to accept love, but when I cried for help no one was there.

-the girl in the mirror is crying because she saved you- and you dont see it.

Our mind knows when to run away, when to freeze, or when to shut down.

I know you tried to fight, and your body lied still.

I know you tried to scream and nothing came out.

But you were just 14, and before that, you were just 13.

and yet I still dream about love.

That one day- Someone will meet me through my writing, through my words, and through my eyes

and understand that I am real, I am here.

-another entry of an unfinished thought.

sincerely,

perspective.