When I look in the mirror, I see a girl,
Pale and young, in a fragile swirl.
Not at all what they say she should be,
But that’s the face that stares back at me.

An angel with horns her smile conceals,
She questions what's fake, what she truly feels.
She knows not her name, nor who she should be,
Only the thoughts she lets no one see.

Her diary hides what her lips won't say,
Secrets she buries and locks away.
Her heart lies still in a photo frame,
Of a family that never quite came.

She’s not alive, yet cannot die,
How can an angel fall from the sky
Before her wings have even grown—
Before she's truly, fully known?

Too young to feel this heavy ache,
Too real the tears, too much at stake.
She looks again—there stands a woman fair,
With silken wings and a haunting stare.

But through the beauty, she sees the lies—
The horns, the hooks, the veiled goodbyes.
For all she hides, she knows too well,
She is the heaven. She is the hell.

No angel on right, no devil to fight,
She is both shadows, both wrong and right.
She didn’t choose this war inside,
The twisted path she cannot hide.

But still she looks, and still she sees,
The girl in the mirror—wild and free.
And though confused, she knows deep why:
That girl is her,
And her is I.