I don’t know who the girl is staring
back at me in the dusty mirror.
She is consumed by sadness,
fueled by bitterness,
enveloped by grief masqueraded as a
warm hug.

She exists merely to escape.

She keeps reaching for acceptance.
She is grasping at love,
pining for tenderness.
She screams hoping that someone hears her,
yet again, it goes unnoticed.
Her plea bargains unanswered,
petitions overlooked,
because that bottle cannot give her
what she so desperately seeks.




Only I can.