ooooooo... Erin. I love Leland's remarks here. People who are dead don't feel pain. You are not me, yet you are. Sometimes we can't snuggle into ourselves but our skin fits us, though we wriggle around in it... that's called being alive. Sometimes, it binds us... sometimes, we nearly step out of it, but always, it fits us. We are, by nature, wriggly things. Just remember to watch your skin while you settle into it. I've heard it can take a lifetime. katy xox.

I think, therefore I am. But I am not you. You are not me. Except through empathy. With that we are each other in imagination. I note the change in symbolic identity for you. It used to be Erin Moen. If it's not too personal a question, is this change connected to the theme of your poem?
Best regards,
Leland

as long as we are creative, we escape this identity ...

well penned ...