Conversations are forgettable
as soon as they happen.
Scenes shift like pieces of
a movie. Black flashes
break apart the moments.
Nothing flows together.
Each thing is a separate story.
If there was an award
for being normal, I would win it.
I know exactly how to be human.
My forgotten sense of space.
Fully in the body and out
of the over-thinking mind.
Actions precise, focused,
and the background is translucent.
How do people function? There’s
no way I’m normal.
I have no idea how to be human.
Take back the award.
I don’t care what I look like.
Wait, do I? What do I look like
to the rest of them? Do they see me?
Faces pass. I notice every detail
around me. My shirt feels like
tiny pieces of chain-mail, but
it’s not indestructible. It’s thread.
In this world I can’t remember
what words have left my mouth.
Did I make sound? What did I say?
Oh, I remember. That was stupid.
I am not who I think. Taste
doesn’t hit my tongue. It hits
above my tongue. I am numb.
I am tired and I could sleep anywhere
because the temperature fits my skin.
I am bored. This is not my world.