The other girl
looks tired.
Poor thing,
she is trying so hard
to be good.
She is distant.
I'm watching her
through a pane of glass.
I see her mouth move
but hear no words.
With my mind
I cut her image in two.
It reassembles
and continues
to mouth shapes.
The other girl,
who lives in my mirror,
looks like me —
my face, my features,
but not my spirit.
She is robot-girl,
coping with duty.
Me, I am light and airy,
free to remove myself
farther and farther.
I wouldn't want
to be her,
even though I made her.
She's a doll, a shell.
She saves me.
I leave the work
to her. I leave,
I feel no pain.
And she does not feel pain.
She does not feel.
(Another piece not suitable in a collection for children!
Based on a story someone told me; not autobiographical.
The person concerned did recover from this episode.)
The person concerned did recover from this episode.)
Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge, day 9: The other (blank)
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