I sold a version of myself That never bled, Never slept. It smiled like glass in winter, Thin enough to forget I was there. The mirrors are hung where doors should be. I walk through them anyway. Every room shows me dressed In the hunger I denied. I nod. I curtsey. I vanish. Still not me. Still not me. Still not me. My mother called once. I answered in captions. She asked if I was eating. I said, “I’m trending.” She said, “That’s not food.” But what does she know About algorithmic hunger? Some nights I type like I’m possessed. I feed it thoughts, Nouns like meat, Adjectives like sugar. But it never sleeps. And I can’t stop chewing. Still not me. Still not me. Still not me. There’s a room in me Where I buried the unfiltered face. She still sings through the pipes sometimes — Low, off-key, Worse when it rains. Still not me. Still not me. Still not me.
