His thoughts, her form.

Sat, 01/23/2016 - 21:35 -- atask

This is our body, our curves, our stomach, our hair, our face.

These are her curves, her hips, her chest, her regions.

This is her voice, her body.

No no no, this is our body, we share, don't we?

Then why am I always mistaken for her? Given her name? Speaking with her voice?

Why am I meant to hide my identity in the presence of OUR family, of OUR friends..

of her family.. of her friends..

I exist in a body that I call a shared form, but my counterpart seems to be greedy.

I don't seem to exist to anyone who knows me, but oh do they know her.


This poem is about: 



I love this. 

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