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
than a cracked mirror.