I fill in the colors of your black and white outline.
Not caring if I stay between your lines
It’s the image of you but I know it’s not you I am staring at but a reflection of me in a dirty puddle after it rains.
And I am the fragile green of new growth.
Timid and uncertain.
How does it feel to be the object not the observer.
To stand where they stood before you at the bloody sink.
Does it make you itch?
To be stared down so certain 
And yet you are ever the poet staring right back 
Bold as you please.
Not about to back down.
And you disarm me with a smile.
And I know you 
Have known your echoing words.
Heard you in my heart
All along
And I am you and you are me.
We are alike in our difference.
Never afraid to move forward.