Wed, 11/04/2015 - 19:05 -- Rossa22

Connected by the heart and clasped with a hand A whole lifetime and more spent in constant company, a single monochrome  In dazzling colors blended by genes, painted with love. Questioning identity in sadness Trapped in a mirror of dazzling iridescence, A reflection of me that is her and a her that is me, Her hand scratches her script while I play a tune on trombone of constant Inquiring, inquest, inquisition of Irresolute identity Whispering questions of “I am…?” Multiples That is all The Twins The Girls Them One.  A constant struggle of definition and individuality. But I am me, she is her We are separate and the same My passion like ivy,  Winding Intertwining  Fastening My temperament to wear rose-colored glasses to the darkest-cloaked of villains, Or my stage presence as a wooden puppet  Toppling Wobbling Stumbling Struggling About Is me.  It is her.  We are one and this is me.  A twin.  Separate Equal Monozygotic.  Transcendent.   

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