The mirror shows me, me:

Skin, hair, teeth

All three of which I no

Longer recognize after

So many years of:

Play, tears, and circumstances

That made me, me

Sadnesses and joys merge

With a twinkle of hope

Within my beating, child-heart

My arms may be rougher than

They were when I would sit

Beneath the oaks with lovers

My eyes may be clouded,

So unlike how they were

When I would admire

The stars and the moon with others,

As if the sun itself entered them

And burst

Yet, they are the same

Arms and eyes

I’ve always had

I’ll always be

My inner-self

A child seeking lightness

Once more