There are two of me in
one. We don’t share space.
I’m in. She’s out, a puff of
air with barely a boundary
tethered with a bit of string.
She’s a finder of roles, an
actor of sorts, addicted to
scripting her answers. Her
words in my body, spending
itself in smiling. I
can watch my thoughts
as they disappear to make
way for what others want.
It happens like breathing
whenever I meet anyone,
anywhere, here. Then she
floats above, watching.
My inner self wants
my body back. I don’t get
confused. I am me, with
opinions that sometimes
leak, slipping out like mice
at night, leaving my brain
with nothing but an exercise
wheel that silently hints
at activity.
Not Quiet Any More 
Tough but real, my sweet friend and love. So grateful for your courage.
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