This is not the hole in my mind
Or the distance in my steps.
It has nothing to do with the gap in my thoughts,
Or the galaxies in their orbits.
SPACE
I am not talking about the pressing of bodies in the mall,
Or the sharing of smell in the elevator.
I sit in the bus, nodding my head to the beat of the music,
While my feet is disrespecting the floor.
I put my hand by the corner of the broken window,
And the old woman beside me looks at me like an intruder.
She just doesn’t get it; she wasn’t created to be alone
She wasn’t created to have her space,...
