Some days I look at her
and see remnants of the innocence she used to possess.
Other days
I don't know who this girl in the bathroom is watching me as I get undressed.
Although I know every curve and crevice of her  figure,
every freckle on her face.
Every imperfection,
every flaw,
every strand of hair out of place.

She is a stranger.

Her eyes are filled with a sorrow of a self afflicted pain.
Insecure delusions of her own self worth decorated in shame.
Some days I watch her paint her lipstick on to hold her smile in place.
Other days I watch as she swallows her  disguise from a bottle that grants her a small window of a pathetic illusion of a fabricated happiness.

She never cries in front of anyone,

But she cries in front of me.
I know her every expression,
even the awkward faces she doesn't let anyone else see.
She pleads for me to hold her,
but as I reach for her
she puts her arms out in defense,
She looks at me like I'm her worst enemy,
Like she hates the thought of my presence.
She constantly asks me why I exist,
My lips move when she talks,
But the words never make sense.
I try to present myself the way I would like her to be.
But I'm only the REFLECTION of a girl she used to be.