All the people in me
sit uncomfortably
beside each other like
passengers on a bus.
They keep to themselves, mostly,
until the True Self
(whoever that is)
decides enough is enough.
She (he?) stretches, elbows
talks animatedly
on the phone, butts in to
a teenager’s shy longings,
tells a quaking new mum
how to Parent Properly,
a student how to Be Herself
(but not a feminist).
She shouts at the Other
for being just like her,
the dutiful daughter for
dreaming too widely and deeply.
I watch them from the back
with my child’s eyes,
I think I might be crying,
I wonder if they'll notice me.