Where She Breaks

Where She Breaks

She stands in a room full of mirrors,

Yet cannot bear her own reflection.

Her lipstick bleeds beyond the line,

A small confession.

She laughs too loud at borrowed jokes,

Clings to hands that are not kind,

Mistakes the crumbs upon the floor

For love she hoped to find.

Her strength is stitched with thread,

Pulled tight across her chest,

She plays the part of iron will,

But never truly rests.

At night she peels her courage off,

Lets it fall beside the bed,

And counts the names of men who left

Like beads inside her head.

She tells herself she does not care,

That hearts are made to bruise,

Yet cries into a silent sleeve

At what she had to lose.

There is a softness in her bones

She never learned to guard,

A door left open in a storm,

A garden beaten hard.

And still by dawn she paints her face,

Rebuilds the outer wall,

For weakness is the thing she hides

The deepest of them all.