7 years bad luck

from looking in the mirror

each year a scar,

in my once flawless skin.

Broken glass in hand,

that little voice in my head

just won’t keep quiet,

“maybe you’re better off dead”

Because my skin

never felt like home,

until I met you.

But people come,

and people go,

this isn’t your home anymore

and I’ll be left behind.

Perhaps it’s best for both of us,

you’ve taught me

love isn’t easy,

left with a shattered mirror.

Cracks in my mirror,

scars in my skin,

proof that sometimes

we need another eye

to point out our own beauty.