who she is

How do you know me?
I barely know me.
I wake up and look at the phantom
Sharing my face and name, and i hate her.
Her forehead creases and furrows unattractively,
And her inelegant nose.
Her thin lips, her acne ridden cheeks,
The jut of her chin, and the fat on her neck.
Her shoulders are too broad and there is acne covering her arms.
Her limbs are awkward, and her hands and clumsy and sloppy.
Her stomach, the rolls of fat, the stretch-mark riddled thighs.
I hate her.
But she loves me.
My richly colored hair, that glitters in the sun.
My thin, delicate nose.
The dainty rosiness of my lips,
The structure of my cheekbones,
My long neck and regal carriage of my shoulders.
My hands, producers of art, the softness of my torso.
She loves the marks on my thighs, ‘tiger stripes’,
And the strength of my legs.
She loves my feet, and she loves them because they dance.