Monday in the Waiting Room

Shadows of branches on pavement
Monday in the Waiting Room

How hard to be you; how hard to be me.
I walk a path I struggle to see.
You walk a path I cannot share;
You walk a path I do not dare.

I dreamt I wanted to be you,
And fed my anger and my rue.
Now I look and glimpse your heart;
I clasp myself, content to play my part.


How hard to be you, how hard to be him, or her, or them,
How hard to be me.
We walk our paths struggling
Without a map,
Sometimes yearning
For a different path,
To share or to dare,
Looking to escape

I wanted yours, or hers or his or theirs
My heart glimpsed
Their struggles and pain
And my loss.
Now I walk,
following my own map.

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