I've been writing a lot lately.
I think it's because I've forgotten how to talk.
I'm out with people so often but being involved with their conversations just takes too much effort.
Words that need to be pronounced.
Sentences that require careful construction so as not to make a fool of yourself
or being insensitive that you might hurt other's feeling.
To further enforce the fact that - I am here, I am relevant.
But somehow I no longer feel here anymore.
The here being where I am tonight.
The physical sits in a chair and tries her best to play a role,
but she has forgotten all her lines.
The I is somewhere else,
a million miles away from the endless disagrrements and gloominess that permeates the night air.
After awhile they ask questions like:
"What's wrong?" and "What's gotten into you?"
Questions I find ignorant and careless coming from
people who assume they have an understanding of who you are.
They are bewildered by this impostor in their midst,
who has inhabited my body but is not acting
like the me that they have come to categorize,
label and accept.
The impostor stares back through vapid eyes
and again struggles with it's diction -
excuses are croaked out,
even apologies are made which fills it with a resentment directed
both inward and outward.
After what seems like a long while
the I starts to return to the physical -
the fact of being here and being now.
She feels herself breathing and She feels its toes stretch out.
She starts to smile and will even try to lengthen
its replies upon being asked a question.
They see this of course and welcome back the her
that they thought they know so well.
She starts talking even though She has nothing to say.
The words will come like they always do.
Even if they're not the right ones.
But the only different this time is ,
she doesn't even care to make things right anymore.
Another lesson learned !
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