The girl who stands before me,
Of wild, inexcusable infringement
She doesn’t know me.
She doesn’t know my ins and my outs
My worries and doubts,
She doesn’t know what I’ve seen; what I’ve done
What I’ve read, what I’ve sung.
She doesn’t know what it is to be
Or to whisper the
She doesn’t know how to listen
To the echoing sound of your pulse.
And her eyes
-though they’re mine-
are empty and blind
and glazed with thoughts I don’t know.
Misty with parallel memories,
Sharp emotions I should’ve felt.
The calm of stormed seas
the peace of the soft rustle of trees
of losing something
And though her body
is a perfect copy,
there’s something untraceably wrong.
Hair that sticks out at
4.8 cm too long.
And a mind filled with
that cannot help but vomit themselves OUT.
as she stares
with these lines upon her lips,
She takes in the girl who stands before her.
Oddly Mismatched twin.
Who, cannot quite get her hair
Who, has clumsiness seemingly set in her bones.
Who can’t find the time to apply her knowledge to the situation,
But will boast it in the dark,
Where no-one cares.
This girl who speaks of her
D i s t a n c e
You would never believe
They are one and the same.