I am split-minded
With quivering doubts,
Because that Other one
Slipped in through the back door--
Didn’t even knock,
Whisked me away to a cocktail party
Where everyone was murmuring about her last aberrations;
I knew it would be better to stay home.

I don’t hear voices—no,
We all sound the same.
She just hates to be bored,
Doesn’t follow direction well.
She likes to smudge all my
Self-proclaimed happy-truths
With bloodshot graffiti ink--

I never was a very good artist.

Always too clumsy-handed to
Make anything beautiful,
Or to clean up my own messes.
You are both delicate and
Extremely cruel,
And I am far too human
To be anything but weak.