I brush my hair and stare into the mirror,
I wonder if I just touched the glass would it break like my heart?
Would it shatter into a million pieces like me?

Would it bleed into the floor and scream?
Would it find the broom to sweep up its own pieces or sit defeated like me?
Can the glass speak,
like the silent little child inside me?

Would anyone ever notice it laying there upon the ground, or would it be unnoticed for decades and maybe just forever.

So will I go to the grave the same way, quietly never noticed, or recognized for my hard work?
Will all I do be wasted upon all human ears?

Will they laugh at my ideas and tell me they're stupid,
but then use them when I'm gone, and give me no credit?

I put my hand to the glass and look at my eyes,
I can't and won't let this be.
I sling my hair over my shoulder.
I've got things to do, now it's time to move.

I'm yet to be broken like the glass,
so before all things shatter me I must prove how it is to be whole.

That I'll scream and I will be heard,
I walk to the door and open it.
I look back to the mirror.
Not today not today, the glass will stay.

I've got things to prove.
Now I exit the room.
Sometimes it's good for that mirror to be free of me!

By:Kara Pettus "The Mirror and Me"