what i carry with me

what if i were to trip on the sidewalk,
my life spilling out of the neat little bag i have it in,
spewing out on the pavement
at a stranger's feet

would they stoop to help me collect
the tiny bits of things
that comprise me?
and what would they see?

minute shards of splintered vanity and fraying bits of fashion
all the things i clutch to me
to validate me
and prove to me that i am worthy

would they notice the need,
rolling down to the gutter?
the need to see the world clearly
the need for the world to see me?

and what about the words?
all the words i've woven
to wrap around me, to save me and
keep at arms length everything else

would they pretend not to see
the scraps of melancholy
that shade my world with grey

amidst the tampons, the lipgloss,
the rosary, the pens, the agenda,
the cards, the stamps and the
pieces of paper with words written on

would they see me?
would they see through to me?

not the me on the surface,
with all the hairline cracks and
the big plastic smile

but the me i am when i'm alone