I don't wish to be like you.
There is no universe
Or timeline
In which I would admire you.

However:
Logically, I know the above isn't true--
But sentimentally,
And emotionally,
I choose to lie.

Sometimes I scratch my thighs & burn,
Because my skin is flaking dry
Like your brittle bones.
And sometimes I look in the mirror
And coo
At my own naiveness and unachieved potential.

Love and hate
Both keep me up at night.
I had a crush once--
And my brain could never stop screaming.
I had a tormentor once--
And my hands could never stop shaking.

My toes are always cold.
When it gets cold enough
It starts to burn
And I remember the heated pots of foot wash
That were so hot it felt cool upon contact.
They interchange--
The compare to that contrast,
The air to the sky,
And the stars to our wishes.

And they marinate together.
Starved.
Cold, hot
Loving hatred.