pardon,

but i think i missed a crucial point in this narrative.

when did i cease to exist?

what act of god, or man, displaced my identity?

you see, i look in the mirror

and i see my crooked bangs,

the place where i burnt my ear, not five days ago,

that one freckle on my shoulder...

i can touch, and feel

my angular collar bone,

the raised skin of my tattoo,

the scar on my kneecap...

i talked to many people today.

they talked back.

i'm real to me.

i'm real to them.

so when did you decide i wasn't real to you anymore?