So Close to Being Just Like Me, but There’s Still Something Wrong

Exactly like me, so close I feel nauseous,

Same heart, same mind, same shame;

Experiences so alike it frightens me,

Same anxiety and disconnect from the world;

Same disgust and evasion of the self.

But then why does it feel so purposeful

On your part? Why does mine feel so

Neurotic, without any control in comparison?

As if I were more flawed than you,

The most flawed person on the planet.

There’s no end to my sticky neuroses—

They make it so I can’t connect to even

The most similar of hearts.

I never trust my feelings. I never am.

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This story is part of a collection of poems, short stories and introspective diary entries, called “Grimoire of a Weird Person II”.