The broken glass that digs into my skin like claws. Is the same glass I stared into every morning wondering why I never felt like myself.
My face was never mine, my hair the same. My body a mere trade off. It's as if god gave me all their spare parts, instead of what I needed.
I feel like I'm stuck in the other side of the glass. As if my reflection is really me, and that I'll never truly know what I was meant to look like.
Maybe I'm just not supposed to know.
The glass releases and clatters against tile. I stare down for a moment, the red pours as if it's in a desperate attempt to escape my body.
It's as if all my innards want to escape. Even it wants nothing to do with this body I've been given.