to my reflection over the top of my computer screen

whenever i see you, you don't look like the person i always thought you were. i mean, the double standards somehow don't fit within that one body and...is it my body? is it my face? the loves of my life will read everything i've ever written and know for certain that the "you" of which i speak is them. each of them. they will twist our memories until it fits my description (just as i twist their's- so desperate to fit somewhere). but, you see, they don't belong anywhere on paper. i have only ever been writing about myself because myself is all i know enough to write about. and because i need to remind myself that i am watching, that i am there. i am not alone as long as i am here with me. am i schizophrenic? it's always a distinct possibility. the dresdon dolls sing the same songs to me and i wish that i could sing back- just to have a conversation with someone without sounding like the way i sound. and because they have more self-interest than i do...and you gotta admit- that's saying something. someday i'll wear yellow petticoats while i water my red roses and even though there are parasites eating away at the bottom of my feet, my red smile and white skin will shine all the way through to the neighbor's front porch. it won't matter that my daughter's a crack whore at 13 or that my son robs corner stores while he should be at soccer practice because i will blissfully ignore it all and just keep on smiling and baking cake after cake after cake.