Early at the Empty Bottle
I get weird looks,
sitting on the stairs
alone, writing,
determined to immerse myself
in a world that helps me forget.
Tonight, there’s a bounce in my step,
but no less fear,
no less confusion
about the part of my life
that isn’t represented
in slogans and chants.
My leg is sore from walking,
my heart from searching,
my mind from never knowing
when to stop.
