What do I see?
Who the hell am I?
I look in my mirror and wish the person I see could become clearer,
But not even my contacts can fix that.
I fear that maybe I am out of touch myself,
And until I figure out who I am, no one can touch me.
No one will leave trails for me to find.
When I look in my mirror.
No one will part my legs like the sea and make a home out of me,
Because I have not yet built a home for myself.
I don’t like the thought of telling you that I belong to you.
Why does the thought of me being property entice you?
Who do you see?
Who the hell am I to you?
Your eyes swell with greed and desire.
You are not the man I need.
You are someone else.
Stop trying to make your home in me,
Because you know that you wouldn’t even welcome yourself inside.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Justice Wysinger is a rising senior at The Noble Academy. She grew up on the South Side of Chicago, and currently lives in the Bronzeville area. She tends to write poetry and prose.

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