i keep thinking about her.

feeling bugs crawl up my throat

writing about bugs because thats what she does

mimicking every move like a mirror


a shattered; mirror


almost a reflection; cracked in all the wrong spaces

with jagged edges that don’t seem to fit when tried to be pieced together with spit and dried glue.

I try so hard.

I cannot compare.


who am i to?


who was i before her?


at night i stare and listen to a deep hum, waiting for the rumble of the train tracks and the strained voice of the stop caller to lull me to sleep but i find myself




(i find myself?)waiting for my own thoughts to bounce back. thoughts of inadequacy.


who am i? to compare. to compare.


I am not a portrait.

I am not a photograph.

I am not a replica.

I am the worn dupe of a goddess that has reign over even thoughts

(talk about self control)


i was my own

i don’t belong to me anymore

and when(if) i ever do

I will not be whole, i will be shattered to useless cracks of reflection, with pieces missing and moreso the rest of my sanity but fuck if i ever try


if i ever try

we both know she did


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