Mirror World

A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

I look at my likeness

And wonder what its like on the other side.

What does that version of me see?

Does she see me on the outside, or the in?

I raise my finger to the glass

And she does the same.

We touch

And I am underwhelmed

But then

Am overcome by a sense

Of vertigo.

Everything that was once right is left

And what was once up is down.

Am I the originial,

Or the reflection?


A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

Sometimes I find myself


I am not alone.

And I have control over the lies

In my head

With His help.

And I forget

That God isn’t just enough,

He’s more than enough.

His love abounds and

He has set me free,

So its up to me to live it out.


A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

Different is hard.

Very hard.

And its,



But you know what?

Its better than being the same as everyone else.

The tide pulling against you is strong

When you go against the crowd.

At least when you are different

You know how to think.

And despite of the difficulty

And social shame

Its a heck of a lot more fun.

Dare to be different.


. “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, its time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain


The Free Life

A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

It is a wonderful thing

When you make that choice,

That change in lifestyle.

You are granted a beautiful freedom

When you stop living for yourself –

Trying to gain “self-love” through the world, and, well, yourself.

When you decide to do life for the sake

Of God

And others.

His burden replaces all others,

And wow,

It is amazing

Just how light it is!


A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

They are a celebration of many things;

Of how many years we have survived on this earth,

Or, more darkly for some, how many years closer we are to death.

A reminder of the glorious day we were brought into this world.

But I also think it should be a celebration,

At least an appreciation,

Of the incredible work, pain, and love our mothers gave to bring us here.

Thank you, mom.

Happy birthday!


A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

The berth of my death

Is warm

And cerulean

With light cast down into its depths in beams.

It would’ve been an amazing place

Had it not also been my grave.

The surface too far away,

My strength gone,

I start to give in to the peace under the air.

But you swim to my rescue,

And we burst through the surface together.

If not for your bubbles,

I would’ve been lost

To those warm, blue waters.