I fill poems with “I”, “I”, “I”.
Expressing ideas, memories, and moments.
Then I use an “other”.
She writes as “other”.
Expressing ideas, memories, and moments
in third person.
It became easier for her.
When I was younger
“I” was the only voice I knew
but then I grew,
and she is able to reflect and expand
on ideas that once had no room to breathe.
She reaches for language
I wouldn’t have trusted before.
But not all “she” is “I”.
I can imagine the worst
that has never happened to me.
Giving her dark thoughts
a borrowed voice.
People worry
when she writes of
cutting, shame,
and worthlessness.
She is me,
but I am not always her.