When you sit in front of the glass
and the water reflects your face,

it is there, looking back at you
as if there was something you hid
from your fractured soul.
so you close your eyes slowly and
feel everything again till your body bends down low
and your hands cover your ashamed heart, protecting it
from your fury, 
from your fears,
from your pain.

your muscles ache,
and a thousand words you should have said
dissolve your skin, reaching yesterday,
withering every inch of you but you resist
the years, the transfixed moments,
the threads love weaved around you
because you are so young and wild:
your ideals come first. your hate comes first,
your country comes first and
it is a passion, a wound, a devotion.
just a few can understand
your disheveled hair and moans.
you don't need life. it is life that needs you.

sometimes you feel less strong
and more grotesque.
it is when the moon rises
and the world is in a drop.
you don't believe in miracles anymore
and today is not enough.
you need twenty years
or maybe what you can't admit
even to yourself.
it is too late to feel the flowers
in your hair but you still feel them
and the hands holding them.
for some minutes life has another name
and you find out a face beneath
your face.
but when you contemplate
the water in the glass,
it is only you so you back off
afraid of your pieces refracted
on it because you are
still there but the form
and the content clashed long ago.
and what you see is so distorted
and frightening.

karla bardanza

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