The reflection on the glass
reveals an unknown person.
She, who has been living in me
is someone I do not know.
Inhabiting my body
and living my life,
she has changed me entirely.
She looks like me,
even has the same name,
lives in the same house,
and has the same family;
yet she is not me,
and I am not her.
Her face is covered with marks,
plastered with paint and color,
like a tribesman off to war.
Her body is marred with black,
images and signs
that cannot be removed.
She dresses without clothes,
covering both everything and nothing.
Has she sold herself to the devil,
to replace her body with someone elses?
She carries it around as if it was her own,
yet the truth cannot be hidden,
not from me.
This stranger that lives each day
as if it were hers,
who carries what is not hers,
acts without care for consequence,
and lives a lie…
is the person that is reflected
on the glass wall.
This stranger, who is me.

This is what I was, and who I may sometimes continue to be…a stranger to my own self.

—

poem written by me © Christa Uymatiao 2006, http://toki88.deviantart.com