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The Measure of Becoming
The mirror splits,
shattering the myth of who you think you are,
shards of self-reflection scattered across the floor.
Each sliver, a truth, biting and blood-stained,
but you stand there, fists unclenched,
eyes wide open.
Growth comes crawling on jagged knees,
this is not a clean ascent,
no golden stairs to carry you up.
It's a wrestle with ghosts,
the ones you've buried with heavy hands,
with silence, with denial.
You cannot flee this reckoning,
the walls close in like truth's rib cage,
breathing you in.
But to run is to shrink,
to fold yourself back into the cocoon of lies
that feels like safety,
but is nothing more than a beautiful cage.
What you accept,
what you let press its weight against your bones,
it cracks you open,
stretching your spine towards a brutal freedom.
The light gets sharper the deeper you go,
splitting skin, unravelling narratives.
You grow only as far as you dare to fall,
not down, but inward.
