The girl in the mirror
stares back at me
with empty eyes.
Tired eyes,
lined with sleep-deprivation.
Lined with pain.

The girl in the mirror
knows pain,
loneliness,
better than I,
better than most,
better than what she displays.

The girl in the mirror
does not show her pain;
does not cry.
She knows crying gets her
nowhere.

The girl in the mirror
does not shed a tear.
Does not shed her protective skin.
Does not shed her wall,
does not let others in.

The girl in the mirror,
speaks only to me.
She is broken.
She is hurt.
She is scared.
She is scarred.

Scars from the past,
Scars from mistakes,
Scars from misbehavior.
Scars from anger;
scars from daddy,
scars from mommy.

The girl in the mirror,
she speaks out loud
in a quiet whisper,

"Mommy, look;
can't you see the scars?
Some have healed,
but others are deeper than skin.

"But I know they're there.
I know.
I feel them."