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.