The Me of I....

She's staring at me

and I laugh

because she doesn't know who I am 

But she's looking at me as if I should be afraid

Afraid of the monster she is holding inside her 

Her face contorts into 

images of hate and hostility

and I laugh

because she doesn't know 

I know the truth
 The monster is seeing me

And is seeking its release

Her looks of surprise and consternation

as I never turn my eyes away

yet she

she can't seem to look me in the eyes at all

She just looks on me

Hoping I will turn away

from the seething thickness

of her confusion that rises up 

and collects in tears 

she will not allow to fall

But I see them

each tender drop 

drawing all her hurt and fears 

into coagulated maliced-filled capsules

 she's desperately trying to cover them
in her twisted cloak of understanding 

But she will not let them fall 

because she thinks they will scare her

in her self inflicted shame and guilt

But I know they would cover her in beauty

If she'd ever let them go

She's grinding her mind 

trying to figure out how to recover from the 

seeming ugliness she knows I see

She can't touch me..

Yet she thinks she is affecting me

She thinks she's hurting me

and so she runs

at least in her mind

she tries to keep those 

evil thoughts at bay

through her silence

My poor little me

Fighting the battle 

to come up from the darkness

of the evil in herself

My poor little me

thinking if she can keep this

from my eyes 

 it will disappear

If I were me

I would love that hate-filled,

 hunched-backed, 

deformed

malevolent 

being she locks away in her kindness

But I am not

My poor little me

not remembering she not the window

but the light pouring through

If only she could 

in this 

the most malformed of herself

understand what it means to see me

She would know it's all for service

It's all for peace

It's all for glory

That her twisted existence be

She keeps staring at me

and the monster within her keeps

snarling, and wreathing in pain

not knowing who I am

she will not reach for me 

she cannot ask me for help

But I know her heart

I know her mind

She is aching to release

the monster in love

She is seeking to be free of its presence

A presence which keeps her divided

I see her looking

Looking towards the hell she's in 

and back to me

She knows I am not from her world

She knows 

 in my eyes 

there is Love

Love she thinks she cannot have

Love she thinks she cannot give

The Love she thinks she cannot be

My poor little me

If only she would listen 

to what her eyes can see

she would hear herself saying 

there is not a her and I

the one I am starting at

she is the I of me

(c) kalonia jennings 11