Me, Etched on You

Another piece I did last year. (Nov 2017)

If you could shed your pale skin, and slide into mine, I think you would. There is something about your brain that distorts your identity.

Take my socks, my shoes, the blood in my veins, the marrow of my bones. Drape yourself in coats and scarves comprised of my mannerisms. They haven’t served me well. Maybe they will serve you better.

Take everything. Take it all. Take my beating heart. Take my insomnia. Take the books on my shelves, the names in my head, the loves of my life. Take my reputation, my morning coffee, the color of my eyes.

All I ask is after you are done taking and you stand in front of my mirror, now an exact duplicate of me, you refrain from your usual habit of pointing at the shell of me that remains and calling it a fraud.


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