Looking at yourself makes you glad that it isn’t always up to you.

Carter Fourqurean

It’s horrific to see

someone who looks like me

standing in the mirror

looking back

like he knows

Who I am.

I wish he knew.

I wish he knew anything

about real life.

He would hate it,

just like he hates

the blemishes on his skin.

He doesn’t know me.

He doesn’t leave the clean

Empty glass he’s in

To experience the joys

of the whole wide

world that’s around


The beauty of the dust

The pain of having

to save face.

And I can despise him

until my eyes are sore,

Loathe him until

my lungs are hoarse,

But I can’t  help

but wonder,

if it’s really him I see.

When he looks at me,

He sees what I see.

He gives the same look

right back with ease.

Maybe when the door

closes, it’s him that


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