Mother Mirror

This was originally published in the 4th Issue of Bluestockings Magazine.

Content Warning: self-harm.


Mother Mirror


Do you see through my stubble? Do you forgive my

eyebrows? The shaking

hands that paint my eyelids

aren’t here today.


I’ve been drinking with the frat boys,

covering rusted crutch cuffs

with duct tape, and not making

as many excuses after I pass out at

5 a.m.


I never cut my wrists,

I was smarter than to give my teachers, doctors,

physical therapists, and

friends a peek at the color

of my blood.


I was falling on the bus,

sputtering in class, walked in

with a red handprint on my face.

I was happy when my zits were

bleeding, who gives a shit about

acne medication?


Edited by Stefania Gomez, Literary Editor

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