i looked in the mirror today
and saw someone else
she looked tired, sad
out of sorts for what she had
and what's worse is
her hands were so pristine
no ink marks, not a callous in sight
no paint or needle punctures
and absolutely no bandaids
hiding paper cuts
she looked so familiar to me
but so different from who
she used to be
a lack of creativity, or perhaps
no care to let her spirit be
just overall someone i'd hoped
to never see
but she's here, in my home
following me
is this who i'm destined to be?
YOU ARE READING
there is a girl
Poetrythe journeys of feeling the ups-and-downs in mere minutes. a collection of poems about self-love, neuroticism, grief, romance, and internal struggle.
