sometimes i forget
who this heart
belongs to.
sometimes i forget
what the mind says is true
often it is confusing
the thoughts i once suppressed,
now bugging
tangled into the words
i was once coughing.
every day is a transient mask
of different faces
contrived, futile
cracked
in its traces
muddling the photographs
of who i am
and how i'm supposed to be
which one's at home
and which one's at the party?
sometimes
when i look at mirrors
the reflection blurs
and sometimes i forgot,
couldn't grasp--
the girl
in front of me
asking,
questioning
who is she?
YOU ARE READING
coffee stains
Poetrythe cracks on this cup still remains, its stains still unwashed.
