I am not She

i see that girl in the mirror, that familiar figure of flesh i am caged behind. i think to myself and i wonder at times who she is, that sombre-eyed girl who stares at me from the mirror. it cannot be me, surely; i am not she. those flowers, i have trimmed them before they could bloom, but their roots have grown long and far, for i am still tangled in their thorns of gloom. i will cut myself free. soft hair falls to my feet. I lift my head, smiling, that I am not She.