Towards the forest and the trees.
Towards the rivers and the lakes.
Towards the desert and the hills.
Towards the deep and the plains.
Deeper into the black.
Further into the hole.
Scratching the earth for a place to bury.
Scraping my eyes to close my thoughts in.
Brushing up dirt creating a storm.
Walking in plain clothes.
Wearing a beautifully pinned smile.
Laughing a fully recorded laugh.
Hugging with battery powered arms.
Speaking with a monitored voice.
Being what I have been programmed to do.
In rooms full of people I know.
In papers typed by hands that halfway read.
By comfort in lies told for years.
In hopes of being seen but not wanting to be seen.
By hands that create but couldn’t create safety.
By words that paint the picture I want to be seen.
In roles given by self for others to use.
By no one other than myself.
By the one who looks in the mirror back at me.
By the woman who authored this poem.
By the woman who helps everyone but herself.
By the little girl who grew up a little too fast.
By the teacher in a room of children that don’t feel like hers.
By the student in a classroom that feels too intelligent to be in.
By confidence in self that seems to big to reach.
I am hiding, hidden and unseen.
But only because that’s what I wanted for me.