mind and muse

I am no one at all.

My best friend knows the one who makes her laugh until she’s sore;
my boss knows the girl who’s always at the door before the clock.
I stand there, imagining the worst — and still, I always make it through.

The family I babysit for know the good girl who watches their daughters;
they don’t know how I miss Door County’s cold water.
Lake Michigan is everything: the only horizon that never forces a choice.

My old dance instructors know the girl who stayed in the studio even though leaving felt right;
my therapist knows how hard I’ve fought to stay bright.
I sit on her leather couch, panic in my voice; she says life is what it’s always been, and everything is as it should be,
and then I speak with peace.

My math teacher sees the sweet girl with a pretty name who keeps to herself;
my art teacher sees the optimist who puts her paintings on the highest shelf.

I never raised my hand — not even in Kindergarten.
I sit still while tides of melancholy pass as I try to listen.

My family sees me as whole: one girl with favorite pastas and secret wants;
they touch all the parts a soul like mine could be.

I’m so many things to so many people that I become no one.

Do not know me as one thing —
call me by the name you adore.
Admire me as a whole,
let me be no one,
quiet, and full.

They all love someone
who was there in the way they wanted and expected—
But it was never what I love of myself.

They all love someone,
that I never was.

Not one.
Not a number to call —
I am everything, and nothing at all.