they say they barely recognize

the girl in front of them.

they say i look tired or sick

or dead behind the eyes.

I listen to their worries, for them,

and give them what they’re after.

Reassurance that ‘i’m fine’.

what i refrain from telling them

is that i finally resemble

the girl i’ve been inside this whole time.


i look

strung out

worn out

hung up to dry.

i look



dead behind the eyes.

i look



to the point of walking dead.


the girl they finally see?

she’s the one i’ve seen in the mirror

this whole time.

she’s was standing right in front of them

but they didn’t look close enough to see.


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