You said you are fine–
but I can see past your eyes.
You, friend, are not fine.
If I could make you
see . . . see what stirs your raging
sea . . . then you would know
that your storm is fierce.
Gray skies cloud your downcast-set
eyes and I can’t find
a way to reach you
because you’re walled up by waves
and I’m not a ship.
You say you don’t need
help, but what do you call your
situation–safe?
No, you call it fine.
And anybody with eyes
can see that you’re not.
Let them help, let me
help you reach the blanket shore,
wrap you in safety
and warmth. You haven’t
been fine for a while, and
you need to know that
this self-saving act
is not a game. And I say
this–only say this–
because you are me,
I am you. Why else would I
speak to a mirror?
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