I feel mislabeled.

I squirm under your calm gaze.

You build walls around me with your words.

"That's why I love you" you tell me.

How can that be

When it isn't true?

Is it really me that you love,

or is it your own reflection in my eyes?

If you've mislabeled my identity,

than am I a mislabeled lover?

Are those words I whisper into your ear lies,

or are they mistakes,

errors after errors,

like typos on a rushed page?


the touch of your skin is nothing more

than a breath of air,

disturbed by my desperate dreams.

If I opened my eyes,

maybe I would look out to see

nothing more

than a cracked mirror.