If you look for me you might not find me.

I exist under my covers, between pages of my poem books, inside music where no one can see.

If people spoke of me, I imagine what they'd say:
"...that girl who comes here and only orders a bowl of rice, and she's with a boy who seems like her boyfriend but they always split the check..."
"...that girl who takes the greatest delight in free posters of her favorite musicians, pesters us even about them..."
"...that girl with piano fingers who looks kind of whimsical and speaks passionately of her music..."
"...that girl who runs through the parking lots into stores..."
"...that girl who giggles like a child and swings at the playground even though she's old enough to know better..."
"...that girl who makes her own shirts out of little boys white tshirts, stampers, and black fabric paint..."
"...that girl who sings to herself and skips; I wonder what she's singing..."