This is freaking deep and introspective.
This really got me “still be someone? And not someone?”
I took it as can I still be a person and just not another number.

Hey, my friend…This one aches with honesty—the kind that doesn’t clean itself up or ask for forgiveness.
It’s messy, human, and brave as hell, the voice of someone still standing inside the wreckage and telling the truth anyway.

Oh yes…..I’ve heard my poems read by machines…it’s hideous.

Oh, I’m a sucker for free verse. The way this flows. The unapologetic confessional narrative. This is bold, brave, vulnerable. It is all soul, and I love every line of it. Thank you. Very powerful.

haha. Lydia Deetz. Beetle is my man, or maybe it’s my childhood crush on Michael Keaton that has me thinking this. He is and always will be my Batman. I digress. I very much plan on reading more of your work. Sometimes I simply read and like, but since I have your permission, I will definitely offer my feedback. You can look at any of my posts and critique them. In fact, I could do with some critique of my last post. I’m thinking of polishing and publishing it. I know it’s rough, and I have thick skin. So do your worst.

This is a beautiful tribute, and I will follow your lead and write one in honor of her.

I’m sure Renee would approve of any kind word through verse from another poet. Nice tribute.

I think I see the changes. It’s a beautiful, yet powerful poem.

Great tribute dude, as we said this is just starting here in America. There is more than two more years of of rights lost, invasions, and lies. Prepare

I felt the need to honor her myself this morning. I’m glad to see you arrived first. When they’ve silenced a poet, we must step up and carry on. I am…overwhelmed by the atrocity. And bracing myself for what’s to come from the hit squad next. Beautiful memorial

Cold, stark, and unforgiving—this grips the chest and won’t let go. You feel the frost, the loss, the helplessness. A bleak landscape carved from grief. Raw, precise, and brutal.

What an interesting opening. The mirror shivers upon your approach. I like this.

Thank you, Fia. And Happy Holidays!

Some days I glance at the mirror and can’t figure out who the stranger is. Like the mirror has ripples. But it’s no funhouse. I felt this one

Mirrors don’t lie! It’s the cold hard truth when it comes to appearances.
I enjoyed the piles of yesterskin!

Merry Christmas!

Okay. I didn’t know the mechanics of it, but now I do. My ex wife couldn’t walk past a mirror without stopping to admire herself, but she might run past them now, what with all that yesterskin pilled up. You’re hittin’ on all eight, old man.

Hi, Usha. Thanks for reading it, and I would love to help you; but part of the plot for this story is to use your computer or phone to search the web for a French to English translator and use it to tell you the words in English. The translator aps are free to use, mostly. Or you could go back to school and study the French language like I did, and now I know enough French to write a French poem, and this is the only time and place in my life that my education has paid off. Huzzah! Well, now you’ve got the tool to get the words — but that won’t tell you the meaning. That’s for you to figure out. Not even a fancy education like mine will give you that. You will need to think hard about what the words mean. They say different things to different people, Usha. Perhaps the original meaning is known only by the author.

I know those words! Only French I actually know. And I’ve used that phrase myself a time or two