Empathy, Home, Journeys, Questions


Someone came here this week
didn’t leave his? her? name
but just visited me
and read
all of my heart’s outpourings
jumbled up together
a portrait of me
that I used to hide in my attic
but now show to the world.
My visitor knows me now
better, perhaps
than even I do
seeing patterns in my madness
that I can’t see
being too close
and too blind
to my faults
even as I try to fix myself
through my outpourings.
He? She? knows me,
but I don’t know
can’t see
even the name
can only count
where they’ve been
in my dreamworld.


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