I hate mirrors,
Or,
I hate the girl who looks back at me
When I stare into them.

She isn’t me,
I mean, she is,
Literally,
But she doesn’t feel like me.

She likes singing,
And dancing,
And drawing.
She has a good sense of humor
And a funny laugh
That makes everyone else laugh, too.
She snores in her sleep
And grinds her teeth.
Mostly though,
She’s scared.
Of people,
Of the future,
Of talking to girls..

I don’t really know what I like yet,
Or if I’m good at singing,
Or drawing.
I don’t know If im funny,
Or how my laugh sounds.
Do I snore,
And grind my teeth?
Will I be scared?

That all doesn’t really matter,
Anyway,
I don’t hate her,
I envy the way she’s lived so long,
And despise the way she’s taken it for granted;
When I would give anything
To live
Like her.