a beginning and an end

I see myself in the nooks,

crooks of other people

Tucked away and hidden within books

Written between the lines of thoughts immersed

Lines tossed around and rehearsed

I can see myself in the mirror as though this vessel that carries,

buries is no more than a character of these immortalizing libraries

I can be defined,

Aligned and kind

Questioning, questioning

But ink becomes smudged and I can no longer see,

agree that this vision is me

A story without a concise plot

A character written to be always in the same spot with the same thoughts

I can't distinguish myself between not anybody

I only recall my humanity,

sanity as though it was memorized in one night, one take

When rain hits my paper face

Only then do I realize I exist,

No longer erased

I find humanity in myself when I'm alone with something as simple as drops of water

But how do I know this is not a predetermined trait of a daughter?

I was crafted without depth,

Left

Behind is all the breath

of someone who's never understood what they're breathing for— why their limbs move,

Why they were crafted the exact way they were

Asking, pleading without real conviction

For someone else to write you warped,

Distort— To sentences that make sense,

That have a beginning and an end,

And end

An anticipated descend

A disgusting dread for it to be this or that instead

With that exhausted cover hanging at the spine

But fine, fine, fine

I'm still readable

#poemreview