What makes you happy? Seriously, what can I do to make you smile? 

My sense of joy comes from you, so if you’re happy, I’m happy and if you’re mad, then I’m furious. I’ll do whatever I need to keep you satisfied. I’ll give you the moon, stars and everything in between. I’ll go get it myself, no suit needed. I’ll come back to earth blue and gasping just to see you smile and then ask for more, and I’ll happily go back. I know no emotion if you don’t give it to me. Opinions are facts when you say so, and I will believe them wholeheartedly because who else am I supposed to blindly trust?

I want to see you shine.

I’ll even snuff out my own light to see you shine brighter. I promise I’ll try not to get jealous or bitter when I see you happy. I’ll try not to think of how that could have been me, or how your ideas weren’t even all that. I’ll look at my work and minimize it to scraps, nitpicking every detail until all that’s left is tangled threads on the floor. Then, I’ll look over to the sea of threads next to it, all of my ideas and aspirations on the floor. All of my ideas that I never bothered to nurture into something greater, not as great as yours I’m sure but still good.

When I look in the mirror, I think of you.

Your smile, your cheekbones, the arch of your eyebrows and your undetectable lace front. How do you get your eyeliner just right, what’s your secrets? I pinch and prod at my face making it red, even more, unsightly if that’s possible. I get dressed in your favorite outfit, cake my face using the highlight you swear by and when I look in the mirror again I see you. There are no more flaws or nervousness. I see someone that doesn’t get lost in a crowd, someone who knows what they want and knows how to get it. 

Sexy, brilliant and strong. It’s you, not me. 

I love who I am when I’m you. I go outside with you by my side holding me up, channeling you into everything I do. As time goes on, I truly believe that I am you. We are one. I think that I’ve made everyone around me believe it too. When I break character, I get canceled. They look at me funny and talk behind their hands.

My feeble attempts to use “sis” and “periodt” to bandage my mistake only do so much. I’m so sorry that I revealed the true me?—I have to read my apology from my notes app. I start to stumble over my words and get so sweaty, my wig starts to slip. I leave and come back a few months later with a new and improved attitude. I only do things if you think of it first, because then I know it’s right.

Thinking for myself only leads to embarrassment. I never do anything right, and I know because the likes and retweets reflect it. So when you said we’re wearing our hair bone straight, I get a perm. Your hair is now lavender, wait for me sis! When my hair starts to fall out, I’ll get a wig. The next time I see you you don’t look the same, your face is distorted. I don’t know why you would change your face. You are beautiful just the way you are. I loved who you were before. 

I love who I am when I’m you.

Through all of this, I’ll maintain a smile, just enough for you to know that I’m proud of you. The smile never seems to reach my eyes though. Inside I think I’m happy for you, I want to be but all I feel is an ache in my chest. Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why a tear just drops. I call myself crazy. Why am I crying, what am I sad about? Who was I before I met you through a screen? How did I make it this far making so many social faux pas? 

I’ve seen pictures from the past, it’s weird, there’s no smize that you taught me but a lot of smiles. It can’t be me, she looks familiar though. I’ve seen glimpses of her in the mirror, right before I cake my face for the day she’s there. When I think about it I feel that ache again. I tear up and get sad but then you’re there to make me forget about all her. She’s an ugly ghost that haunts, so why do I feel so alone when she leaves?