I like to squint my eyes in the mirror and study the face my face becomes.
I like to squint my eyes in the mirror and look for the face of a poet,
Or of someone who always matches her socks.
I like to squint my eyes in the mirror and strain to see someone for whom the world comes easily,
Because I will never be a person for whom the world comes easily.
I know that.
I still wish it would.

I'm not very good at thank you's, but I'm excellent at sorry's.
I say it's okay to be humble,
But some will tell me to never ask forgiveness,
To take what I can and get out quick,
But they're wrong,
I'm sorry.

Sometimes I dream of taking up smoking and moving to Paris and wearing black.
I dream of smoking cigarettes and being caught in the photos of tourists who say,
“Look at that Parisian,
Look at her smoking,
She looks like a movie.”

I like sitting in churches and watching people pray,
Bathing in stained-glass light.
I wonder if they feel their God inside them,
Loving with their hearts and breathing with their lungs.
I fold my hands and kneel.
I don't think I feel a God inside me.
I feel uncertainty, and blood, and bones.

I think about being in love one day,
Of knowing hands that know my hands
And eyes that know my eyes
And lips that know my lips.
I think about the love that's lost every day
And wonder if it gets recycled,
If it has to be crushed, broken, and melted to nothing
Before it can be made new.
I think about love while I'm looking in the mirror,
But then I get lonely,
So I think about socks.