“Still Meeting Her”


By Adena M’lynn


I’m still—

meeting myself.

No,

not myself.

Another…

her.


She says she’s ready to heal.

I didn’t know

we were all bleeding

from the same vein.


I thought—

we were the same.

God made us in His image.

Right?

Same sky.

Same words.

Happy.

Truth.

Lies.

All spelled the same.


But—

her happy flinches.

Her truth tastes like metal.

Her lies…

sound like lullabies.


I thought truth was

making sure someone else

felt good—

say it so they smile—

and by gosh, that’s the gospel truth.


But that gospel came from

a mouth with no name.

A girl who was

everyone

and no one.


No identity—

just borrowed faces.

Just a dictionary

written in survival.


Now—

we sit across from each other,

passing words

like they might break.

Praying,

maybe one day

we’ll speak the same

and actually

mean it.

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