Creative's Corner

Mirrored Through the Broken Glass

Most mornings, I glimpse myself in the mirror, bathed in sunlight as I arise.

Today, I woke up to the sound of thunder — rain-drenched sheets sticking to my frigid thighs. 

I caught sight of my image reflected from across the room.

The darkened sky behind me, an impending constant gloom. 

I peeled myself from the puddle growing in my bed.

Raindrops ran down my back; my hair dripped as I turned my head.

I checked my phone: notifications empty, no texts, no calls, no replies.

The icy air engulfed me; my only warmth flowed from my eyes.

I found myself before the mirror, vulnerable and bare. 

Sitting on the floor with the storm raging on, I spoke to my reflection, unaware

Of the insanity of my actions. Or perhaps I did not care enough

To restrain myself. Perhaps I did not want to put on a show or pretend to be tough.

Nights and days spent in sorrow cannot be contained in one incident.

I fear being shunned, reviled, left out in the cold if, by accident, 

I were to slip up and out myself. My fears: a constant source of anxiety.

How can I describe this multitude of emotions inside of me?

For now, before a mirror, I speak 

And my thoughts, close to my heart, I keep.

Mariam El Awad, Senior