Bitterly, Sweetly

This hoarse shower door, yelping with agitation. The hinges worn down to the copper rust. Bleeding fragments onto the tiles. That slap of an unwelcome touch, poison spreading from the soles of my feet. Icy, sharp, lashing out. This muddled reflection, obscured by settled condensation, clouding what my eyes can’t see. Drenched un-natural burgundy hair, supple olive skin, parted- guiltful lips, barren deep brown eyes. A facade people call pretty, but what I call a monster. Recurring mistake, set on replaying. “What happened to that little girl I used to know?” Her ears ready for the answer she wants to hear. Eyes waiting, avoiding the tell tale signs Caution, warning, one way. “She grew up. Without you, Mom.” Eyes hitting the brakes, point of impact. “You weren’t here for the six years of my life I needed you Don’t act like I’m still your little girl, I’ll never be, okay.” Eyes, too late. This un-biteable tongue. Impulsive, scorned, venomous. Targeting the ones cared most for, the ones that hurt easiest. This grotesque habit that resists the faintest fracture. This reflection exhaustive to fight. Atrocious, sinister, beckoning. The mother snapped at, the father let down. The once demure girl; stepping off the sidewalk. Jaywalking. Cooling air sweeps away the clouded cover. The facade’s reflection comes forth; she is me. I wish I were not her.