Sea of Strangers

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Today I want to talk about strangers.

We live in a world full of strangers. They walk amongst us, thinking all sorts of thoughts and guess what: You’re never going to know what goes on in another person’s head.

Just stop it, right now. Stop thinking that you’ll ever know anything outside of yourself. It’s an impossible feat. A task unworthy of your time and energy. When it really comes down to it, we are all strangers on a train to nowhere. Maybe you think they have got it all figured out. You know who I’m talking about. Them. They. Others. Not you basically.

Bullshit.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Shout it out loud if that helps. The smartest person in the room is the smartest person in the room because you gave them that title. At this current moment in time I work in a profession where everyone is clawing for that title in particular. I sit in the back of every staff meeting watching the birds pick at each other, grasping for worms.

Sometimes, when the moment drifts and their voices mute I can see right through the walls to the trees outside. The wind scrapes against the leaves and wisps by my face with an exciting aura of unpredictability. That’s when I know they have no idea.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I’m back. I smile, and I know what really matters. Me. My thoughts. The mirror that makes me is the one I choose to look at, not the other way around.

As I continue to listen I am no longer afraid of my own voice. My mouth opens. I speak. And it really does not matter what these strangers fucking think of me.

 

Anne

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There is a young girl

who stays with me

beneath the the trees

and trickling streams

~

She sees a star

and gives it a name

~

As though it were

the only light

to ever grace

the sky this night

~

I thank her for

her love of words

and they way they walk

along our tongue

~

Softly

 with such purpose

folding into prose

and poems about the sun

Girl Talk Self Talk

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Girl talk is not about what we say to other girls

It is about what we say to ourselves

It is what happens when we see mostly mirrors

and stitch words into our skin

as though we were taught

right from the beginning

to wear the whispers of other people

Basket Cases

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There are baskets

juggling on the heads

of girls

carrying too much

of what is grown

in someone else’s garden

 

Aching necks

break daily

under the weight of

what sprang

from the dirt

you chose

 

So specific in your decision making

as though purchased

with a particular design

in mind

 

And when you

trip over their

broken bones

and feel the instantaneous

crack

that crept upon them in slow motion

will you finally know

what it is to be broken

brick by brick

cell by cell

under your heavy words

and poorly framed eyes