The Real Me

When I look in the mirror

I see me

but increasingly

I do not recognise

the woman

behind my eyes.

This woman

so continuously

distracted

she is unable

to give her

full attention

to anything

or anyone –

even those

she loves.

Who is she?

– Not me.

Her mind –

or is it mine?

Wanders - continuously

unaware of time,

among words

and images

that must

be played out

on an page

or a canvas.

Who is she?

– Not me.

When I look

in the mirror

I am scared

this woman

will replace

the real me,

The real me

who is slowly

disappearing,

consumed

by the lack

of brain cells

and the drugs

used to replace them.

When I look

in the mirror

I am scared

I am becoming

only her.

Unable to focus

on the

here and now

of the day

the real me–

wants

so very much

to be present.

So I

search

for something

that will

tether

me to her

her to me –

the real me

and I find it

in the words

and images

she wanders through.

I persuade

her to choose

to tell stories,

paint pictures

of my day to day life l

love for family

and friends.

When I look

in the mirror

I know her now.

Who is she?

She is me.