11 5 17

22Jul2016 111723 0599 Buda-Prague

who am i? whose is
this face these eyes they glisten and
quiver with a fear not so unlike mine they
seem to see past the smudge of eyeliner and
the not so blonde hair is she judging me
mimicking maliciously
shading in the light in my eye with an
already blunt pencil. is it mine? this body –

was a barcode swiped did we
exchange paper or was it a trade;
one for the other? i think this one
might be defective it
has a reflection it does not replicate
the soul inside it cries wolf it lies
it sticks sulky pouts online and likes to
complain she’s bored this isn’t me
this can’t be who i am meant to be surely
there’s a body far better one who can
fly like all my dreams as a child? one who
can make words dance and isn’t so afraid of
the past. or maybe it’s my mind that needs
replacing all thoughts seem trapped in a
desert spaced out confused by the time and yet

there is solace. i find it
in dreams of mountains that fall into the sea in dreams
where you are here to sing me to sleep.

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