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Mike and I

Mike is the one they see:

the me they think they know.

I see his name written,

his picture framed,

but I think he is not me.


We live in the same fantasies,

love the same absurd humor,

but to him, they are embellishment:

a proud social display.


I cannot hate him though.

I exist so that he may create;

so that he may justify me.


His creations are valid too,

but they are not my salvation.

They cannot be the revealing vessel

that will slip me from him

and into immortality.


They do not belong to me.


So I am resigned to my oblivion,

hoping some part of me

survives the slant and exaggeration

of his unavoidably fiendish nature.


Like all things, I want to be myself.

Instead, I shall be Mike.


When I see me less in his creations

than in the lending influences,

I ask myself:


Am I a lie?

Does my own hope falsify me?


The answer is printed on this page.

I have created nothing.


Mike wrote this,

and like everything else:


it belongs to him.

One Response to “Mike and I”

  1. on 15 Jan 2009 at 3:16 pm Misses Brightside Esq.

    This is beautiful.

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