my nostrils expand and shrink. a dirty mirror wall. opaque. vague. i look. it’s me in the dozen movies i pictured myself in. they are R rated. B category. They do not define a masterpiece. i do not define a masterpiece. the mirror is not broken. i look for pieces of it on the floor and gasp and search and wonder and hope i will find enough pieces to put together a puzzle. they are but pebbles. I shriek. They do not define me. they most likely define me. I rewind a broken film in my head and it’s the 60s and I am a bad director. I am a lazy editor. I am a sandcastle and you did not cast a wave upon me. I did not cast a kick upon me. I doodle. It is me I rebuild and it is not me I rebuild and it is not me that has been demolished and it is never me and I am who I am but who am I and i scream and people crossing streets do not look right or left and I am left with nothing but oh so many things I thought I knew how to use but. 
I do not use. I scratch my scalp and wonder if I am a worthy object of interest. I depersonalize. I expand my nostrils. I do not even have the courage to inhale the air that we shared because it was neither of ours to begin with and now.
Someone else shares a smile and hopes and rejoices and I 
sitting here feeling like an unwanted addition in a movie
I directed
I star in and

I do not belong.