2019 Writing Scrapbook Part 2

Photobomber

You see me, but you don't.

I am just one of those blanket faces that you pass by.

I am that girl in the red sweater that you saw on the streets,

Who lurks in the back of your family photographs.

I am imprinted all across your timeline,

And yet you don't see me.

You don't see my eyes, how they gape into my soul.

You don't hear my voice, ringing like tinkling bells,

For I am nothingness-

Only a geometrical blur in your peripheral vision.

You don't see my mind; you could never imagine it.

You don't see the atlases that I have charted,

Don't know that my brain contains all of the stories from the beginning of time.

You don't see the amplitude of potential that I hold in my very fingertips.

You don't see that my life and yours are permanently intertwined-

And why would you?

You are here, or there, or anywhere.

You hold your own atlases in your mind,

Never noticing the coincidental points at which our stories intersect-

For we don't notice

The vastness of our shared humanity.

Freitag, den 27. Dezember, 2019