I enter the room, and burn on a light,
A figure doth loom, so I turn to the right,
'Twas a boy, I was as startled as one could be,
No joy, he simply stared back at me.
The longer I sat and gazed, the more that I felt,
It's like I knew his whole story - the cards he'd been dealt,
His whole world felt backwards, right was left, left was right
Nothing seemed to help; he felt that mimicry might.
Replicate to gain the acceptance he sought,
Extricate himself from this web he could not,
"It's OK," I told him, "Just be yourself. Be free!"
But to my dismay, he began to copy me.
When I pleaded, he followed, longing and wanting,
And when I yelled he did the same, mocking and taunting,
He even copied the lines of my poetry,
He even copied the lines of my poetry.
I rose, reaching out towards this thorn in my side,
Like snows, his touch was much colder than mine,
I jumped from a fear that cold touch did evoke,
I punched. So did he, and the mirror between broke.
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