Fear of Losing Myself

Fear of Losing Myself 


The mirror is fogged.

I can’t see the startled face reflected,

caught mid-scream.

Where am I? 

I pound the glass only for it to break.


Weak like my heart. 

Susceptible to any sort of pressure. 

Shards slice through strands of my hair

cutting what I haven’t already pulled out. 

Shards slash my skin

reopening previous wounds. 

But I barely feel the pain. 

I’m not even present. 

I scavenge the floor,

searching for that Barbie band aid, 

grasping for those little red pills. 

I can’t find them.

I can’t find myself. 

Headlights flash.

Someone’s here to find me!

I can’t see my eyes in the mirror,

they’re searching for my face but

they find


I’m boosted into the bulky black vehicle 

and I tell the driver to find me. 

He leads me farther away from myself.

I’m scared. 

I’m cold. 

I’m always cold.

Give me your jacket to shield me from my

chilling self doubt. 

He pushes me out. 

I should have known he didn’t have the map.

Now I’m left in the snow, left to

trudge through ice until my body becomes blue. 

A frozen pond.

Eyes stare from under the film. 

I run my fingers along the edge,

leaving clear ‘exes’ behind them. 

I can see 

I am under the ice

I just need to break it

I can breathe. 

I am found.


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