This is In the Mirror, A Home

I searched for love in open skies,
In fleeting words and stranger’s eyes,
But every echo led me back
To footprints soft on my own track.

I wore my flaws like second skin,
A war within I wouldn’t win.
But bruises bloom like ink on page,
And scars, in time, can soften rage.

I learned to sit with silence deep,
To sow a garden where I weep.
Each breath a seed, each pause a prayer,
Each lonely night, a thread of care.

No need to shine for them to stay,
No dance to prove I’m worth the day.
My voice, though quiet, still belongs,
It hums beneath the world’s loud song

So now I turn with tender grace,
And meet myself in that old place
Not to correct, not to improve,
But simple to reclaim and move.

For love begins not in their eyes,
But in the self we recognize.
Not polished, perfect, neat, or new
Just whole, and real, and always true.