Stella Silvae

You looked at me, one day,
and you told me,

“you can’t even look yourself in the eye”.

And you stood up behind me,
and moved me,

like some kind of
poseable mannequin,

pushing me closer
to the old mirror.

You took my head
into your hands; gently,

yet leaving no room
for non-compliance;

and you blamed me 
for what you thought was shame.

All to make my eyes 
connect with themselves.

As if witnessing
my own pale image

would undo their avoidance,
and fix me.

And, I know, you were
just trying to help.

But, in that moment – 
in so many of our moments – 

you couldn’t see that what was needed, 
was not my reflection,

but yours.