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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.