“When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a poem.”

I don’t know how to let you out without destroying us both.

Seek refuge in the space between my bones.

Somewhere inside my throat lives your ache.

I like to trace the ghosts of your fingers on the back of my hand. They read- I don’t know how to hold without you.

I pocket grief and it beckons me like a lover.

My silhouette is an ocean, your lips a sailor.

There is a calmness in not knowing.

Every beauty mark, a country to roam. Every stretch mark, a river to cross.

I loved you in quiet because to hide is to pretend that it is okay.

Allow me to introduce myself, A warning and a welcoming all at once.

We are so much more than skin can hold.

I have lived too many lives to be only one thing, and instead of attempting to mesh them into a form of a human being, I have decided to love every jagged edge of mine.

I don’t like how your embrace feels like comfort till the knife thrust.

I always wanted to be more than my brown skin, when you told me I was sweet like cinnamon.

If you wish to read the story of my people look no further than my body.

I am only beautiful when my legs are open and I have forgotten my mother tongue to make room for yours.

Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?

There’s that moment every morning when you look in the mirror: Are you committed, or are you not?

If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?

Books are like mirrors: if a fool looks in, you cannot expect a genius to look out.

When I look in the mirror, I know I’m looking at someone who isn’t sure she deserves to be loved at all.

Books are the mirrors of the soul.

Great players never look in the mirror and think I’m a great basketball player. You ask yourself, Am I the best player I can be?

Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off.