She marks off yet another day,
on her calender packed full.
Tasks to attend to along the way,
and yet, it all seems so dull.
She returns back home,
and prepares herself a meal.
Not planning on boredom
but becomes unable to feel.
She washes, and changes her clothes,
then gets ready for the night.
Comfortable in her own home,
but unable to escape the fright.
Tossing and turning in her bed,
the night stretching so long.
Trying to find peace, to get ahead,
engages herself in a rhythmic song
Crying and laughing, both collide,
nobody to show, but nobody to conceal from.
privacy is stifling her very own hide
she fears what she is going to become.
She feels like she is full of herself,
But empty as a desert’s expanse.
pushing that thought to the back of the shelf,
unable to boldly take that stance.
She knows she hates the hypocrisy,
and wonders if she is all alone.
because nobody has had the audacity,
to join her efforts, to condone.
They are okay just bobbing along,
floating above the waves.
Preferring just to belong,
in what they think, is their enclave.
And throughout her waking hours,
she wonders if there is another soul,
in this disposition of ours
to join her very own.