The Honest Mirror

You wanted the truth,
But only the kind,
That made you the wounded,
The saint, the refined.

You practiced the posture,
You painted the frame,
But never expected,
Just what it would name.

The need for control,
You disguised that with style,
But it showed you the teeth,
Behind every smile.

It held up the face,
You begged not to know,
The parts that were silent,
That ran the whole show.

No light to forgive,
No fog to defend,
Just the self you denied,
Staring back without end.

Cathrine Hottran 2025