That’s me, over there.
Looking at myself as I walk
through and see both of them.
We are us and make up
this unholy trinity.
Me is watching a documentary;
fascinated at the lion taking
down the buffalo with effortless
skill. Her feet are
content in huge bear-feet
slippers, with menacing claws.
She notices I and is
I am walking through the Sitting
as good as I can be. Rouge
lips and tousled hair. Lingering
cherry blossoms follow
the heels that will soon be
walking, to meet the man that
makes us all swoon at his feet.
Myself is aware of me but is ignoring
the eyes that desperately try
to catch her attention. I
make it easier for myself
by stealing the limelight
leaving her to hide in the shadows
in the corner of the room; thinking
thoughts that she will never share.
I yell at me to buy some new pyjamas
because nobody looks good in flannelette.
The nagging falls on deaf ears, with a girl
like me. She tells her to shush
her finger pressed firmly to her lip.
This is the best part.
I ask myself to concur but receive
as always. Annoyed, I walk out into
the night and live
whilst me does what comes naturally.
And all the while; silently
rocking in the darkness
counting on her fingers, in between
scribbling out the ideas. The answers.
She works out what is best for us.
All by myself.