You wake up and then you look in the mirror and you're not quite sure what it is but you look broken. You look like your soul is shattering in a million pieces and there isn't any sort of glue or maybe even tape, tape— that can fix you.

(Now, that won't do)

Maybe it's in the set of your jaw that's a little too strong. Or maybe it's in the slightly sunken look in your eyes that comes from the dark circles, the piercing nightmares and screams that haunt you in the night. Perhaps it's in the way that your hair hangs a little bit limply on your shoulders.

You don't know what it is, but you know you need to fix it.

So you take a nice, good shower with some nice, good shampoo so your hair isn't quite as limp, and then you eat an extra granola bar before you set out so your skin glows a little more, (nutrition!) and you try your best to make the grip of your jaw a little bit looser. And then you pull out your concealer and apply it to your eyes so they don't look so sunken.

(Fix those mistakes)

You're not really looking at the final product — you're just doing everything as you go. So then you go and look in the mirror again to glance at the final product and —

You still look broken. A little bit better, but broken all the same.

Maybe, you realize, it's in the not-so-shimmery set of your once-glowing eyes.

So you pull out some contacts you used to have because those ever-changing kaleidoscope Aphrodite eyes were so reminiscent of your mother that it sort of pained you to be an Aphrodite kid — although you never wore them because Jason; and you put them in your eyes so they look prettier than ever before.

(She could be twins with Jason now, those pretty blue eyes!)

And then you go back to the mirror and—

You still look broken. A little bit better, but broken all the same.

Despite your best efforts, you still look broken.

You don't really want to look broken (even though you are) and you gaze at that mirror in contempt because it makes you look broken even though you're not—

(Quit lying to yourself)

And then this totally Thalia thought comes to you but you know it will make you feel better.

So you take your fist and ram it with all your might into the mirror. And you do it again and again and again until you can't anymore. Your fist is bleeding and it hurts but it doesn't really matter to you because now you're not broken, the mirror is.

You are Piper McLean, and you're not broken and it isn't your fault.

It was never you. It was just the mirror.

A/N: Hi everyone.

I keep writing about Piper because she's just so easy to write. And yes, I know this is OOC, but I suppose Piper has insecurities—this is just my kind of way to show it.

Thanks for reading,

-readersarethebestwriters