i sit by georgia lindsay

i sit at my table
and watch the weather
a wet snow covering
the new spring growth
melting on the ground
to produce
gray slush
clinging to skirt hems
and exposed socks

i sit alone
and watch people trudge through my mood
echo's of the way i feel
thinking of obligations
and others
and wonder what
the hell
i think i am doing

i sit by the window
and attempt to drink my dinner
in the form of hot chocolate
draining the empty calories
down to the sludge
from the mix
and again return for more
why is this sweet warm
nothingness
the only thing that is palatable?

sitting and thinking
i come to a conclusion
living life by my own rules
making it up as i go
isn't all its cracked up to be
i don't know
if i am strong enough
not to apologize for
what others see as
my mistakes

i sit, contrary to habit,
with my back to the mountains
facing the pond and trees
an hour early
and alone
intentionally out of step
with those i know
so i can know myself.

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