Reflections in a Quiet Mind

When I walk, my arms sway out of tune,

Like misplaced notes in a familiar song,

A silent critique from a mirror unseen,

Casting shadows on my steps,

A signature, never quite right,

Ink smudged by doubt and a wavering hand.

Their smiles curve like crescents in the night,

Bright and effortless,

While I search the glass for something to match,

A face spotless, untouched by the world,

Yet here I stand, tracing scars only I can see,

Wishing for water to cleanse more than skin.

Legs too strong, too bold, too much for this frame,

Too loud in a room where whispers reign,

Their voices, soft as petals, make me mute,

A melody I can't sing, a world I can't join,

Their friendship a circle I can't draw around my own,

Compliments feel like feathers, too light to hold

I watch them, perfect and complete,

As I stand in fragments, pieces unaligned,

Longing to be seen, to be real,

Yet shrinking in the glow of their sun,

Wishing to rewrite, to redefine,

To carve a place where my reflection can belong.

But maybe it’s in the dissonance of my steps,

In the strength of legs that carry me forward,

Through a world that doesn’t always seem to see,

The quiet beauty in the misfit’s dance.

Perhaps my voice, though different,

Holds its own kind of melody,

A note that wavers, yet never breaks.

For in every crack, every line traced on my skin,

There’s a story no one else can tell,

A strength that rises from the deepest well,

Not in chasing the shine of another’s light,

But in finding warmth within my own gentle flame.

To smile with my eyes, to walk in my own rhythm,

And to see, in my reflection,

A face not spotless, but wholly, fiercely mine