I'm not sure I would recognize myself,
If I saw myself,
in reflection, or in frame.
It's so outside myself, another self
it's hardly really me.
A cage,
a shell of pinky meat.
The barrier, my jailer,
glaring stranger stares, naive.

The truest part, my savage self,
she hides beneath the dark.
She bleeds in lines if woven words,
a woman bent in curves.
Scandalous, yes,
her story told in verbs.
A ghost to the present,
biting at my nerves.

I could tell you,
I have dark eyes, olive skin,
in a photo my face might shine.
However, without the mask,
behind those lies,
exposed,
my soul is truly shy.