Reflected Wound

You scolded me for cutting deep,

With words I carved inside my sleep,

For calling names the dark had taught,

When no one asked me what I thought.

You winced at wounds I dared to show,

Your temper flared, too sharp, too low, 

I only said what hurt the most, 

The parts you thought were mine to ghost.

You shook with something unexplained,

As if my hurt had you detained,

Your fury wasn’t mine to keep,

It rose from something buried deep.

And then I saw, not all at once,

The shapes behind your built-up fronts,

The mirror hidden in your chest

Where you kept all your restlessness.

You fought yourself beneath my skin,

I was the echo, not the sin, 

And when my truth began to ring,

You struck it down, a mirrored sting.

Cathrine Hottran 2025