“God, that doesn’t look like me…”
A picture from last year fell out of it’s hiding place. Maybe your friend sent you a photo or you were
cleaning out your storage.
“I don’t even do my hair like that anymore, my clothes, or my face”
It stares at you though. It beckons to say, “you have changed, you’re not even you, you changed.
When you go to the mirror who even are you?
Are you still the same?
Once upon a time, you begged your mom to buy you peanut butter and now?
Do you even see yourself anymore?
In the end, we all are a collection of genetic markers, passed down to us from the dark ages to the 1940s
and, well, you don’t even look like yourself.
You’ve lost your spunk
You’ve lost your love
You’ve lost your morals and what you fight for
By god! Where is your passion?
You can’t even say who you are
Truly, who are you?
When you look in the mirror, you don’t even see yourself.
You’re a mask of yourself
A fraud
A phony
The world’s greatest actor, you even have yourself convinced
Do you even see yourself?
Why, you’ve changed
You’ve wholly and fully changed
You’re a ghost of who you used to be

A simple façade
An image of moldability
A lake
You the narcissus and you the echo
You the one who can’t even defend yourself
You the one who burned yourself
You the one who became a bully
A fake a liar
You the one, the patron saint of expectance
The latter of the reactionist
You who can’t even choose who to be
You who can’t choose your foundation shade
You who can’t even see yourself behind all that chalk
You’d have to peel off all your skin
And touch your bone
And entangle your fingers in your tendons
And lick your muscles clean
Until you know who you are.

I’m holding a mirror.
I sit down to cry.