here we are again, back where we started –
a girl, a mirror, hands cupped and
asking for something.
it’s an old story: i loved and i lost, i loved him and he left;
now i’m just left with two phantom limbs, a compass heart
that will not stop pointing to things
it cannot have.
i’m wiping off the spots on the mirror, trying to refocus,
wishing there was a better way, an easier way,
something more forgiving
than looking back on everything lost
and counting every blessed time
i used to be
enough for you.