She stands in front of the mirror, not to admire, But to understand. Who is the girl with quiet eyes And a heart that feels too much? Who is she When the lights are off And no one is watching? She carries storms in her chest Not the kind that scream, But the kind that settle And grow heavy in silence. Sometimes she laughs louder Just to drown out the ache, And sometimes, She disappears into herself For days no one notices. They say she is strong- But strength is complicated. It is not in how well you hide the pain, But how honest you are with it. She knows what it's like To be the second choice, The almost, The not-quite-enough. She knows how it feels To pour love into people Who never thought to hold the cup steady But she also knows the beauty Of rising. Of waking up Even after a night full of tears. Of showing up When the world says she shouldn't Of loving herself Even when she doubts if she's lovable at all. She's not a perfect story, but she is poetry- Unfinished, raw, Aching with meaning And one day, she'll look in that mirror and not see her flaws, not see her failures, but the fire that refused to go out even in the darkest hour.