You’re that girl who always lend her shoulders for other people to cry on. But you’re also that girl who can’t show her true feelings to other people. You’re the one who holds it all together, the one who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders.

People always expect you to always have it together, that’s why it’s hard to show your weakness to others. What other people expect of me, then it’s what I’ve come to expect of myself.

“If I’m not the one holding everyone else up, what’s left of me? If I show my flaws, will people still see me the same way?”

The hardest realization is that I realize that being everybody’s strong girl, I’ve neglected my own needs and my own struggles.

I also crave for freedom to admit that I’m not always okay, and that sometimes I need help too.

I am a vampire I can look in the mirror and nothing stares back at me For I am a vampire and they have no reflection

I am a vampire I am used to the sight of blood Though not blood that takes a life but allows for other life to be created

I am a vampire I crave the dark My curtains don’t open and I don’t go outside

I am a vampire Society fears me With their beliefs and ideologies That they refuse to adapt as time changes

I am a vampire But vampires aren’t real Yet boys are real But I am not a real boy

When I look in the mirror, I no longer recognize the reflection staring back at me. This woman is older than I am. The shape of her mouth does not show me joy but criticism. She has hard creases on her forehead and between her eyes. Her once enviable cheekbones have been buried beneath the weight of depression. This woman’s ocean-blue eyes have darkened with time. She traded her porcelain skin for broken blood vessels and dry spots. Her curly auburn hair has gone limp and wiry where the white came in.

The mirror’s reflection shows a body that is not my own. Her posture is burdened, shown in the slump of her shoulders. Her shape has transformed from hard hourglass to soft and pillowy. Her arms are freckled with age. Her hands are lined from use. This woman’s breasts sag as the stretch marks pucker around her nipples. Her previously round belly button has collapsed into itself. Her hip bones have long since been covered with layers of indulgence. Her thighs dimple and her knees fold.

She is unrecognizable from the outside, permanently altered. What caused the woman staring back at me to become a stranger? Was I too preoccupied with surviving to notice her change? I didn't see her shoulders begin to sag. I missed her body plumping. When did her hands become wrinkled with time? On what day did her face form its first permanent scar of emotion? The reflection in the mirror shows every laugh and furrowed brow. If I know how this woman came to be, is she a stranger?

There is nothing more comforting than to truly be known and loved.

Sitting here, watching embers dance into the night with my closest friends, I realize how grateful I am for each one of them. These are the people who have seen every angle of me- have shined their light on my every facet, fractalizing themselves throughout my life.

The one on my left- kind, gentle, and true. She loves with a passion I have never seen or known until encountering her. With her I am seen, and yet still safe. I need not open myself to vulnerability, because she can already see in.

To my right, sits the one most detail-oriented, precise, and methodical. One might think these traits make him difficult to connect with, but there is nothing more subtly sweet than to be known by someone who pays attention to your detail and recognizes all the patterns within you, even the ones you do not declare.

Across from me sits one filled with laughter, joy, and a spark for life. Though I could not be more different in some ways, we seem to flow like parallel lines. Balanced, on the same page, ever flowing forward.

Behind me is the friend most like myself. A multi-faceted picture of the duality of man. The strong, silent type who loves fiercely and lets completely loose around his loved ones.

Shadows created by the fire dance across their faces, changing my view as things often do. I examine each one in the warmth of light, and appreciate each detail of them.

As I sit and ponder my dearest friends, I realize. We are nothing more than simply a reflection of the ones we love the most.

I see my reflection in the things that I hate, i see that reflection making me hate every part of myself. I wish i had a different reflection, a reflection of the things that i know i love deep in my heart… i force my reflection to show things that don’t define me, just to fit in. I can change that reflection of myself every time i am with a different person, i can change that reflection as much as someones talk to me. I can change every shape of that reflection just to fit in

Leah and Violet had spent hours getting ready for prom. Every detail had to be perfect. Everything had to assure that all eyes will be on them because they would be making history.

“Hey, babe!” Leah yelled from the bathroom. “Where are your bobby pins?”

“No clue! My mom puts them in a new location every time she uses them. Just look around and see what you can find!”

With compliance, Leah opened every drawer, ever cabinet for at least something that can hold her bun in place. She found a navy blue hairclip that clashed against her dress. With the limited resources, she had to make do.

“Did you find anything?” Violet asked.

“Yeah! I did!”

“Then let me see your dress! I’ve been waiting for hours!”

Leah giggled. “Okay!”

She glanced in the mirror, checking if anything was out of place. Her painted nails glimmered in the light above. Her makeup was flawless. It was the most beautiful Leah ever felt.

“Hurry up!” Violet squealed.

“I’m coming, geez!”

Excitement fizzed in Leah’s stomach. Her hand clasped around her necklace, ready to make her grand enterance.

But there something out of place.

Everything Leah used was put back in it’s original spot. Everything that was open has been closed. It was as if the bathroom was never used.

Her reflection, on the other hand, was no longer mimicking her movements.

“Violet!” Leah said. “Could you come here?”

She paced back and forth, but the reflection only followed her with its eyes. Its body remained still like a statue, waiting to strike when no one is looking.

“What is it?” Violet leaned against the doorway, arms crossed around her chest. The train of her black dress cascading behind her. It took one glance at the mirror for her jaw to drop.

“What the hell?”

Violet’s reflection was mimicking Leah’s. It stood with a sadistic smile exposing blood red gums and paper white teeth.

“Leah, let’s go. The limo is waiting for us.” Violet offered her hand, which perspired with a thin layer of sweat.

“Y-yeah. Sure,” Leah muttered. Her heart sounded a fearful rythum. The soundwaves made themselves known in the walls of her skull.

Only when a chill ran down her back did she scream, because the chill came from the beckoning hands emerging from the mirror.

she wipes the blood off of the blade with the back of her hand, cleaning off her hand with her torn-up dress. she sees her messy hair falling in her face, her eyes outlined by sleek tattoos that one can only notice if they are looking for something there. otherwise, they blend in with her think eyeliner and long lashes, accentuated by her perfectly venomous crimson red lips. she can see herself in the blade, and she doesn’t like it one bit. how did she get here? she was doing perfectly well two years ago, with a 4.0 gpa at an esteemed college, with a great internship and a lovely little sister. now, all of those things were gone, and she was only left with the blood stains on her skin, the dagger held by her fingers, and her poisonous lipstick in her clutch.

Before when I finally got home, I’d walk into the bathroom and look at my reflection. I’d notice my perfected fake smile and forced sparkling eyes that show ‘humor’. I’d take a deep breath let go of the forced picture of happiness and perfection. I’d let the tears fall. I would finally let out all of my emotions from that day out and I’d see the broken girl in the mirror.

Now when I go home and pass by the mirror, I don’t see that pefect girl or the broken girl anymore. I now see the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the laughing and sobbing. No longer hiding my broken and imperfect parts from the world. I just see, 𝘮𝘦. All of me.

I stare.

Is this what people see? Some girl; unbroken… Untouched, clean. Without a scratch.

A reflection can change how you think. A reflection can change how they think. Is this what I am? Do they see this?

Hand falls back- flies into the mirror. Shatter a reflection, make it bleed.

Hate the way I’m seen… I’m not what I seem, no.

I stare at the shattered shards. My broken reflection is mirrored.

“That’s more like it.”

As I stare at my own reflection in the mirror, The image starts to become clearer. I am no beauty; I am more of a beast.

The image of myself disgusts me, I know people are lying when they say that they disagree.

My reflection is full of flaws, I don't know why I think like this, I wish I knew the cause.

I feel like I was only made to be a mistake, I long to have the beauty of a river or lake. But I know that is very unlikely, I wish to be a star so that I can shine brightly.

I do not like what I see in my reflection. I am a walking imperfection.