Maybe because I can hear it
Crawling out from under my bed,
Pulling down every notebook
Memorizing every word
Tracing every drawing
Learning everything about me
Down to the last
Sad
Note.
Maybe I hear shuffling of pages and wonder if they are looking up at me
My face locked on this screen, eyes shifting over words to distract me from them
Wondering if whoever it is, they look at me different.
Do they laugh at me,
Or do streams flow from their eyes?
Or have they known?
Is this no surprise?
Have they studied me for hours on end before taking my work
And filling their soul even more with me?
Why would this be running through my head?
I simply wonder what
the next person would think.
