Untitled

Here. 

Sitting alone

In a room full of 

Familiar strangers
She wishes hard 

That she could reach

For contact outside her

Own skin’s prison. 
For her

Everything is inside

Nobody knows that her hands

Are trembling; shaking her fresh

Manicure. She pulls her fingers to her lips hoping to stop them

To pause

Before she speaks. 
She smiles and nods 

Hoping to look softer than

She knows she is. 
She won’t be remembered. 

The casual conversation flips

In her mind 

And twists itself 

Into her love for her own quiet space

Home. 
Still. She sits. 

A stranger in a room

Of familiar faces. 
June 20, 2015

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