sometimes i forget that there are lives alternate to ours
not the individuals, but the classifications
you must decide the life you want to lead
is it validated by quantity or quality
i have tried quantity, it's never enough
it may feel so on a satisfying shallowness
it can assume an identity but never be
i look at two ladies
one with a small designer bag, both dressed in shades of dark
well-kept and rule abiding
they indulge in their second breakfast of the day
i have no desire to surround myself
just to see and be
tired of waiting, forgetting who i am
the quiet commenter needs a pause for interjection
time proves to be trying, testing
observant to a fault
deadly comorbidities lead us into manifested depths
sometimes i forget that there are lives alternate to ours
but they are all that is visible
because that's all they want to be
the lives that no one knows
are kept in satisfaction
morning kitchens speckled
with muted books and spoken memory resurrections
we all don't want to be the star
my loud red-orange nails whisper something different
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