In the mirror sometimes...

I don't sleep much anymore.  It's really always been a problem, but lately it's gotten worse.  So, by the time I stumble through my bedtime routine, it's well past the hour of humility.  It is on these late nights, that I find myself looking more intently into and upon myself.

This face, smudged with a life even I can't sometimes believe, haunts me from the bathroom mirror.  The dark circles formed by years of self accepted abuse and the genetics of disapproval.  The caverns carved between eyebrows too often cocked in question and mock-disbelief.  The skin damage earned by a childhood spent basking in the sunlight with friends I wish I could still call to come out and play.  The lips full of held back emotion, softened by the loss of passion.  And these eyes that once sparkled for such a short time, but now lie dormant and beaten.

I see the scars I gathered as souvenirs and wonder how I will add to the collection.  I try to imagine all the new pain I will earn and plan where to stow away those memories.  So much of me has been used well past the point of warranty.  So much is beyond repair.

But these hands hold my children when they race in for comfort.  These breasts soak up the tears of innocence and love.  This waist is home base for a girl hiding from the real world.  And, these feet carry me in the circles I'm spinning in the name of progress.

Don't hide the madness, I whisper to my reflection.  It's ok to fall apart tonight.  It will all look different in the morning.

And, in the darkness of the early morning, I gather up my tools to paint a fresh view.  Covering the darkness and the lines and the scars of the night, I submit to the new day's promise.  No longer hopeful, but comfortable in the known.  

Because, sometimes, staring back at the end of the day is the face of a stranger I once knew.  Sometimes, I still call her out to play.   And, one night, she just might rest in the dreams of a quiet peace.