The Mirrors Scream Back — New Poems

Trauma—
 the most elegant way
 to call someone selfish
 without ever moving your lips.
 Funny, isn’t it?
 Some play dumb.
 Some fall apart.
 Some wear the crown like they earned it—
 forgetting they started the fire
 they now dance around.
 Value everything.
 People bleed too.
 Just like you.
 Kindness isn’t hard
 until you start rationing it—
 believing they needed it
 more than you ever did.
 That’s the trick.
 That’s the rot.
 That’s the quiet envy
 wrapped in satin,
 stitched with every moment you whispered,
 “They need this more than I do.”
 It looks like grace.
 Hell, it feels like art—
 the way your hurt wears pearls
 and calls itself healing.
 A masterpiece of denial.

 You learn the script—
 smiling through fractures,
 laughing where your voice once cracked.
 You rehearse love
 until you forget
 you were ever worthy of it
 without the mask.
 And when you finally break
 and say,
 “I’ve done everything I could,”
 the room pretends not to hear.
 They’ve already filed you under
 Too Intense.
 Too Soft.
 Too Much.
 That smile they offer?
 It’s not warmth.
 It’s a neon sign that reads:
 We’re not paying for your depth.
 And still—
 you let it play out.
 Why?
 Because I’m Vincent.
 This is my echo.
 My engine.
 My curse.
 And my anthem.
 I go.
 And go.
 And go.

 Until “love” feels like bait,
 and “mean” starts making
 a disturbing kind of sense.
 But hear this—
 You’re not above anyone.
 And no one’s above you.
 Why?
 Because luxury is optional.
 But dignity?
 Dignity is not.
 That’s the war.
 That’s the wound.
 That’s the scream
 the mirror sends back
 when you finally stop lying.

✓ Verified human-written