Anonymous Poem
When I am angry, I look into the mirror and see my mother.
Her explosive emotions leave damage. So, I take my anger out on her and her alone. I guess, since I see my toxicity as a reflection of her, deep down I think she deserves it. But she is only a girl herself.
She has suffered pain, like I. She has failed… and tried again… and failed. She has felt the hot flush of embarrassment, the sinking feeling of shame. Her quick tongue only exists to protect her.
She sees me in the mirror too. She says I am manipulative. I am “not living up to my full potential”. I am lazy. I am messy. I am dramatic. I am depressed. I am overly anxious. I am emotional. I am angry for nothing.
But she has felt the breeze of autumn, the warm hand of a lover, the excitement of a new opportunity. I am terrified of becoming her yet run into her arms for comfort. We are told that angry women are evil women but… there is a lot to be angry about when you’re told that feeling angry is wrong.
A Thousand Words
Gianna Hayes ’26
A picture’s worth a thousand words
But every time I look in the mirror
I don’t recognize the person staring back.
Am I the wrinkles in my smile,
or the furrow in my brow?
Am I the longing in my eyes,
or the bags tucked beneath them?
The person in the mirror is a collection of parts,
The person in front of it worries too much.
A picture’s worth a thousand words,
But the polaroid I took won’t develop.
It wouldn’t have captured me anyway.
Every photo feels like a ghost;
If you squint, you can just make out the faint outline of my epitome,
A shadow peeking through between stale smiles and tired eyes.
It makes my hair stand on end,
Sends a chill down my spine.
What’s haunting is what’s not there.
A picture’s worth a thousand words,
But what about what it doesn’t say?
Those thousand words don’t tell you
How much I love to breathe fresh air on cold mornings,
How hard it is to fall asleep at night without my quilt,
How gently my sister rocked me to sleep as a child.
These are all the things that I am.
I am the kindness every stranger has shown me
I am every joke my father told me
I am the tears of joy shed at my brightest moments.
This.
This amalgamation of love
Is what defines me.
The Wooster Voice 