Yellow shoes

Can I wear red lipstick

On a random Tuesday

Can I don my new yellow shoes

Just to sit in a café

 

Who am I here

In a foreign land

Why do I feel free 

Only when alone

 

My so-called 

Homeland

Doesn’t feel like home

Anymore

 

Lately I’ve been wanting

To run away

To Europe

Maybe there I’d be me

 

Am I really

A writer 

Does it count

For anything

 

Now 11:13am

A couple hours more

I need to know

What I’m doing here

 

Now 38 years old

In a long soft dress

And a beaded wood necklace

Painted red and brown

 

Medium length hair

Small hazel eyes

Always contemplating

Everything

 

I fit nowhere

Well then,

Brené brown says,

You fit everywhere

 

I’m allowed

To think for myself

To not follow 

The script

 

Yet I’m entwined

With those 

I’m different from

We aren’t islands

 

Yet palm trees

Sound nice

Salt-water, coconuts

Miles of beach

 

Ahh solitude

Freedom

Sunshine and

White puffy clouds

 

Always imagined

Without bugs

Or extreme heat

Or thirst

 

No stinging jellyfish

Or poisonous creatures

Or the disconnect

Of loneliness

 

Another nationality

Sits in the café

A brightly patterned shirt

Another in black and white

 

Stylish, pristine

Eclectic, relaxed

Do their hearts

Beat hard within 

 

Do they feel

Like frauds

Like they don’t fit

Or belong

 

Surely it’s not

Just me

Who is shedding

Itchy too-tight skin