There was girl in she mirror,
Who looked just like me.
Yet somehow seemed wilder,
Her long locks free.
We'd talk for hours,
About my enigma of a world.
I'd tell her my stories,
My fears, my dreams.
She'd listen.
Silent.
Never sharing her own experiences,
Quiet.
Now I question whether she ever had any.
I met her again yesterday,
The girl in the mirror.
Told her I wanted to
Be
Not just anyone,
Her.
Rid of my responsibilities,
And in possession of hers:
None.
The next bit seemed only logical.
In I stepped;
and out she went.
Her smile feral, cunning.
Told me to keep her space,
Warm.
So I did.
For her heart did not beat,
Not like mine
And her skin was like cool glass —
No red tears pumping through her veins.
Not like mine.
A corpse, if I didn't know better.
So now,
From the mirror I watch
Her laughing, smiling
— pretending not to be an imposter,
While I stand in her small spot,
A caged bird.
So now,
Melancholy is my every breath,
Because somehow nobody acknowledges my absence,
Or the foreign presence amongst them.
No one notices.
Because no one cares.
