She’s still there

The Story Etched in My Skin

by MissT

Some mornings…

the mirror glares back,

not cruel — just honest.

A quiet accomplice

to the things time has stolen.

The lines around my mouth

are roadmaps of survival.

The girl I once was?

Still there.

Just buried

under years that weren’t always kind.

No one told me

that beauty would pack her bags

in silence.

No slammed door,

just a slow fade,

until strangers stop looking.

Until shop windows reflect someone

you don’t quite recognise.

But beneath the ache,

beneath the sting —

comes a truth I can’t ignore:

This face…

has grieved and glowed.

It’s kissed sun-warmed cheeks

of babies I brought into this world.

It’s twisted in laughter

until tears ran.

It’s flinched from betrayal,

softened in love.

This body —

my body —

has been both battlefield and sanctuary.

No, I won’t lie and say

I love what aging feels like.

But I will say this:

She —

this woman in the mirror —

deserves my tenderness.

My grace.

My damn applause.

She is still here.

Still rising.

Still enough.