a memory of mirrors

Between the ages of five and ten, I was so afraid

Every time I'd open the bathroom door,

crouching down to avoid her figure in the large panel

My head hangs

Turned to my fingers, now shiny with water and soap suds

Need to be clean

Need to focus on my phalanges

Anything to avoid her, that's not my blood

I'm more than that, I have to be

I started to see the light catching itself on my wet skin

It formed a reflection

A face between each fingerprint

Running out, crying to my dolls and pens

Draw a picture and feel a little better

Lines and colors bring me pleasure

It's weird how present I felt back then

too aware

unrelaxed

waiting for the next thing to go bad