how touching

the mirror makes you crack: god

made the way you are, you’re told. from the moment

when you are born your body is not

shatterproof, is a glass 

temple, is a sacred place nobody

dares to desecrate. no

chances to rebuild when everybody 

looks in. you will always have 

this face, into a future where no one 

can change 

your heart, your chest,

the knot underneath 

inverting to

its mirror image, telling you this 

isn’t right. you lean into your reflection. look

past. don’t question it. don’t you see it? 

you can embrace your 

self through speckled silver. 

now you are achiral

enough to touch yourself. mapping

your palm on palm, 

reflecting. wipe the steam across the glass. nothing more

than translation. you are

beloved more 

like this — changeless. for them. you can 

open your mouth,

fog the mirror with choked breath,

to no one, looking in, the mirror is a 

stranger. you are becoming second

to yourself. you want to be free of her. say something —

that you have wanted

nothing more. 

she could drown. she could steal 

your lungs. which will come first? push harder with your hand.

know it can be

yours. the mirror begins to 

burn, a glass body molten, malleable into

another skin. you live only if you 

let go. the heat crackles. so what will 

you 

be?

you

let go. the heat crackles. so what? will 

another skin you? live only if you 

burn a glass body: molten, malleable into

yours. the mirror begins to 

know: it can be 

your lungs which will come first. push harder. with your hand,

she could drown. she could steal

nothing more

that you have wanted

to yourself. you want to be free of her. say something

stranger: you are becoming. second

to no one. looking in, the mirror is a

fog — the mirror, with choked breath.

open your mouth 

like this. change, less for them. you can 

be loved more

than translation. you are

reflecting. wipe the steam across the glass & nothing more.

your palm on palm,

enough to touch your self-mapping. 

now you are a chiral 

self, through speckled silver. 

you can embrace your 

past; don’t. question it. don’t you see? it

isn’t right. you lean into your reflection. look —

its mirror image, telling you this:

inverting to

the knot underneath

your heart, your chest,

can change

this. face into a future where no one

looks in. you will always have

chances to rebuild, when every body

dares to desecrate. no 

temple is a sacred place. no body,

shatterproof, is a glass.

when you are born, your body is not

made the way you are. you: retold from the moment

the mirror makes you crack. god —

how touching.