Two of Us, Or Maybe More
I have to drag her everywhere.
The better part of me, that is.
The worse part of me is scared to leave the house.
But she doesn’t want to go either…
We are the same in that way.
When we finally escape the house-
We talk, and think, and respond.
But it feels like there is another person doing all that…
Someone inside me that is even stronger,
Someone outside of me that is even stronger,
Who I am forced to trust somehow…
But when I get home…
I am just one person.
I am just a person.
A single person who questions everything that has happened…
Slouching in front of the TV.
Wondering…
If any part of me is better than the other.
Or if any part of me is good at all.
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