“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.