I Who Is Not I

The I who is not I is perfect stealth because of the faces she wears. Her hair is blue like mine but her face is painted at will, and sometimes she has no face at all when she wears the silvery suits. The I who is not I slinks in cotton and lace, cinches her waist, and moves with a grace dissimilar. The I who is not I peers over her spectacles smirking in the mirror and dreams of social subterfuge (contrast I, specters of simulation stripped). Yet underneath her false velvet is I who is I, made of steel.