breaking the glass
i lean on the mirror
and it crumbles
under my weight:
it's been
a crutch for far too long,
a fragile justification
for a hatred that based in an evil
far deeper than my flesh.
i can no longer
pick up its pieces
and cradle them in my hands
peering desperately into their edges
looking for an excuse.
i can no longer
mimic its cracks
on my own flesh,
trying to find
what makes it so irreplaceable
so i can achieve its permanence.
the windows long ago cracked
and let in the outside air.
i gave up
on trying to hide from the weather.
the plates
long ago shattered,
i gave up
on trying to keep them empty,
leaving them in their shelves to collect dust.
the crystal cups
shattered,
they were so used to being half-empty
that they couldn't handle being half full.
the chandelier
has shed its jewels
and laid bare
upon the wooden floors:
it is no longer
the center of attention
and it sighs in relief,
being freed from its own expectation.
i broke
the screen on my phone
after i dropped
my dependence on its glow.
but the mirror
is always the last pane of glass to break.
it trapped me in a prison of flesh
that didn't match my brain.
every time i raised my fist to smash it
my own hand blocked it from passing through.
i was my own nemesis
and in order to defeat me
i had to let myself
win.