Imposter

I’m told my sparkle is returning. 

and I guess that’s a good sign,

I didn’t realize it was even missing.

I didn’t realize it was even mine.

As I stand in motion

on my comforting carousel,

it provides me with safety, 

like a shelter in hell. 

A magnificent revolving platform 

with porcelain ponies grown weary,

from this never ending firestorm 

that may always be a part of me.

A circulating prison,

with a stage that creaks and moans,

as if it too has a deep aching 

residing within its bones. 

Sifting through the lost and found

of all the faces that I’ve known,

would I even recognize

the ones that I’ve outgrown?

Which one is the imposter

and which one is me,

or am I simply both the offender

and offendee? 

Like the porcelain ponies,

I long to be free

from this pretty prison

that became my identity. 

I’m told I look like my old self again 

and I guess that’s a good sign,

I didn’t realize it was even missing.

I didn’t realize it was even mine.