A Brief History of Identity

Torn-"Nice to meet you,"
Mirror says.
Some freckled juvenile,
Haven't seen her in a while.
Begs the question,
Who am I?
Forehead high.
Spewing words she will forget,
Spitting fire she'll regret,
And desolate,
'Cause mirror says,
"You're mine."
Perspiring pinkies hook,
Smear the lines
That seemed so sure.
Drag the graphite down the page,
Warped tears take their toll.
Cool reflection scoffs her fear,
Swollen hands weigh down,
And for one solitary moment,
Stars flash across her sky,
Mirror shatters shards of shallowness,
Her heavy heart heaves a sigh.

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