Dislocation

I met myself the other day.
I looked across the room
and I locked eyes with I.

I didn't see myself at first
But saw the haircut and
the loud obnoxious shirt,
drowning out the face.

Past these defenses I saw
the times writ on my cheeks.
Etched under the eyes,
and in the mouth, open in surprise

The crowd swept in, a curtain
and I lost myself in the mass.
No one else had seen the other me,
save I

I wonder though which one they saw,
the care worn one, or the
mocking rebellious one.
I don't know which of us…
I don't know which one is me.