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The Real Me

When I look in the mirror

I see me

but increasingly

I do not recognise

the woman

behind my eyes.


This woman

so continuously

distracted

she is unable

to give her

full attention

to anything

or anyone –

even those

she loves.

Who is she?

– Not me.


Her mind –

or is it mine?

Wanders - continuously

unaware of time,

among words

and images

that must

be played out

on an page

or a canvas.


Who is she?

– Not me.


When I look

in the mirror

I am scared

this woman

will replace

the real me,


The real me

who is slowly

disappearing,

consumed

by the lack

of brain cells

and the drugs

used to replace them.


When I look

in the mirror

I am scared

I am becoming

only her.


Unable to focus

on the

here and now

of the day

the real me–

wants

so very much

to be present.


So I

search

for something

that will

tether

me to her

her to me –

the real me

and I find it

in the words

and images

she wanders through.


I persuade

her to choose

to tell stories,

paint pictures

of my day to day life l

love for family

and friends.


When I look

in the mirror

I know her now.


Who is she?

She is me.

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