By Roshni Riar, Staff Writer
Iāve become a stranger to myself
again. In the quiet of the morning,
I brush my teeth without the lights
on, concentrate hard on the grime that
collects around the tap. I examine my grey
sludge buildup and how it spreads a little further
every day. I breathe heavy against
the weight that creeps into my lungs.
Two feet clad in steel-toed
boots dance the tango on my chest
like theyāre stomping on the grave
of an ex-lover. Squeezing,
pressing. Iāve been avoiding
my own gaze, that despondent stare stuck
inside the mirror stretching out in front of me.
I donāt hate my reflection like I used to,
but I still think sheās sick. She twists,
contorts, splashes toothpaste on the mirror
and never cleans it up. I rinse my mouth, spit
and leave her behind me. Donāt look back.
I hide the tremor in my jaw, the desperate
bobbing of my throat. Canāt give myself away,
not before Iāve forgotten what the curve of
my mouth twisted downwards looks like. Not
until itās tucked away behind the memory
of my first-grade combination-lock sequence.
I donāt want to remember, at least not yet.
