I remember that girl clearly,
the one I used to be.
Who lacked a wrinkle in her brow,
held lightness in her feet.
I wish to ask if she is proud
or pained by who I am.
It’s her I’d hate to disappoint.
It’s her I’d lend a hand.
Does she know that she is with me,
a part I can’t let go?
Does she know how she has made me,
the person that I know?
I catch her in the mirror now
with every look I cast.
I hold her thoughts inside my heart
like teardrops from the past.
I’m made of everyone I’ve met
and scars I still can’t lose,
yet swear on everything I am,
to her I still hold true.
Edited by Molly Levine | mlevine@themaneater.com
Copyedited by Maggie Atkinson and Emma Short | eshort@themaneater.com
Edited by Annie Goodykoontz | agoodykoontz@themaneater.com
