the schism
of who i am
and who i
think i am
rarely come
to battle

but a weekend
spent as who
i wish i was
makes me wonder
who i could become

i didn’t write
for the first time
in seven years
yesterday
i was simply
existing in
the moment

perhaps there
is room between
what i see
and what the
rest of the world
does

it feels like
a lot to process
in a crowded
airport in norfolk
longing and
dreading home
in the same
shallow breath