How many people know you?
Know how many times you roll up
the cuffs of your sleeves when it’s warm?
Or know how many sugars
you take in your tea?
Or how you handle yellow bees?
How many people know what
you tell yourself before you go to sleep?
Do you count sheep?
Or the stars on your ceiling?
Or your scars that are healing?
Do people know you have those?
Nobody knows.
How many people know you?
Know how much you resent the gap
between your teeth?
Or what number you group things in
when you’re counting?
Or what the smile on each side
of your face means?
Or where to find the seams
Where you’ve been torn open
just a bit.
Where those little slits
under your raised eyebrow are.
Do people look hard?
How many people know you?
Know about how much having dirt under
your fingernails drives you mad?
Or how you don’t like to
drive in the rain?
And how you add brown sugar
to everything?
And how you wish you had wings
To fly away over all these people
who think they know you
When they don’t.
They don’t know the first thing.
But they never will.
You won’t let them in.
How many people know you?
Sometimes,
I
certainly
don’t.