The mirror

i look in the mirror
and flinch like it’s a stranger
like the face staring back
should apologize for existing
there’s a weight in my chest
that has nothing to do with flesh
and everything to do
with how the world has taught me
to measure worth in angles
and softness in shame
every flaw feels louder under the light
every scar a sentence
every curve a question i can't answer
without flinching
i count the things i would change
until i forget the things i wouldn’t
until my reflection becomes a checklist
of what i’m not
but then i pause
just long enough to wonder
who decided what beautiful meant
and why i believed them
maybe beauty isn’t the silence
of perfect skin
or the symmetry of bone
maybe it’s the way i survive the mirror
again and again
and still try to be gentle
maybe ugly
is just a word someone made up
to sell something
or hurt someone
or feel less alone in their own doubt
i look again
and this time
i don’t look away