The real me


You're there-- sitting across from me

head bent

shoulders hunched

pen scribbling fast and intense

While you're writing, I'm thinking: "God hates me!"

for I would give anything to get away

from you.


You're different -- and strange.

hair all messy

face too pale

clothes scream dirty

and your eyes... a blue ocean filled with secrets and depth.

Scars decorate your arms, face, and neck

You groan -- as if in pain? -- when you stretch to the right

your shirt lifts a little, exposing (skin?)

colored with blue and purple promises.


My eyes wonder...

to your lips-- BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND

yet you look up at me with searching eyes that accuse of being judged

Brown eyes meet your blue

as you pass me your notebook

and leave with a sad smile.


For what I saw on the notebook was

a drawing! OF ME?!

Me... from your point of view -- looking like you.


Only instead of seeming fake

deep within me


that this was the real me-- being no different

from you.


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