I feel like a stranger to myself. I want to get to know parts of her that need to be heard. Like how she wants to be in love but fears the world and how sappy every poem makes it sound. Fear from the hurt because everything once shattered and the bandages won’t hold up through more damage. Examines her body with a glare and wonders what made her fall into doubt in the first place. Maybe she needs to hold her hands to her chest and feel her heart beat to know she’s worth living for. She wants these pieces to unfold gracefully, but she’s shattered in other ways. Feels the pangs in her belly from feeding off the scraps the world threw at her. Which part tastes the most sour? Is it the sound of everyone’s voice? The rewritten pieces you can’t read clearly? Maybe it’s as simple as loving herself a-little more than she did after sundown. Yesterday, I looked in the mirror and said hello to a stranger. -AMT©️