When we look in the mirror, we don’t know who we see.
The years have not been kind:
the sharp remarks, the put-downs, the disregard.
Our eyes and brains play tricks on us.
Once we had a life;
we were loved and we loved.
Sons and brothers,
sisters and daughters,
mothers and fathers.
Now we are nothing more than a number;
we’re not even a name.
Forever stuck in the gravity of our crime,
unable to escape the ridicule of people who don’t know us.
Defined by a statute,
a length of sentence,
a type of crime;
of no worth in the public’s eyes.
We look deep into those eyes in the mirror,
only to see brokenness, chaos, pain, shame, dismay;
the burning question always the same:
Will we or anyone else ever see us any other way?
Will we ever be more than our crimes?
