Searching for Self

I lost a girl long ago.
I don’t know where she disappeared to.
She was lovely and vibrant,
Innocent and true.
Everything that I am not.
Untainted and uncracked was
Her heart.
She loved her stretch marks
That resembled lovers bruises from
Hidden kisses.
No pain did she splash
On her canvas,
Or her paper with
Her blood red ink.
She created beauty and happiness
With just a word or a stroke.
No one wonders where she went.
No one plastered her face,
On a milk carton.
Nobody noticed but me.

Now, her brushes
Are blistered and dried.
Her notebooks are only have filled
With words of confusion, insecurities,
Heartbreak.
Where did she go?
I hate myself everyday
For letting her slip through my helpless fingers.
I hate myself for
Losing her,
For losing myself.