T(w)o My Selves

Hey, it's me.

No, the other me.

Yes, the one who burnt the toast. Again.Yes, the one who impulsively bought three different shades of nude lipstick.I can't believe you're here today.You made it.

Hey, it's me.No, the other me.

Yes, the one who burnt the toast. Again. Yes, the one who impulsively bought three different shades of nude lipstick.I can't believe you're here today.You made it?

Hey, it's me.No, the other me.Yes, the other me.

Is this me?

Of course it's me--They're me.I'm me.We're all me.

It's always me, and me.

The one who drank those four cups of coffeeMixed with liquor and sugar,Because it felt nice to feel a sweetness as it burned.Just like those times I used to etch into my skin; A fleeting relief with no real result.

They say that it's a chemical imbalance,An uncontrolled denigration of the mind thatMakes me unkind and too kind and all that's in between —Whatever that means.

Feeling everything and nothing is like riding on a train andI just want to get off but I don't really knowWhere my stop is,So I just keep going and going and going andGoing and somehow I end up in a place so unfamiliarYet so well known.

They call it a disorder, and yes,My life is a mess,Of thoughts and of feelings andThe people and the things that I attach those to;But it is an organized derangement,Like when you tell your mother thatYou know exactly where everything isIn your bedroom covered in heaps of clothes and oddities.

So let me formally introduce my selves:

Hey, it's me.No, the other me. Well, both of us.

Happiness is a warm hug andSadness is a smoking gunAnd I will shoot myself in the foot whileClutching on to those I love most.