Compartmental existence
What room am I in?
Incapable of talking
Are you a friend or spy?
A need to connect
Forced to listen
Searching for patterns
Punished for finding them
So much information to hold
Spilling into no one’s hands
Terror is the steam to the mind’s engine
Who can I talk to?
Trust but verify
Except not them, or that.
Zero trust
In one room I am large.
in charge.
In another the picture of the embarrassing end of Dunning Kueger
“No one cares who you are”
So what about the man watching from Arizona?
The man filming my lunch?
The one following me in one street?
Or the other chasing me down another?
Is it because I am a woman? Or because of what I do?
People don’t tell you why they are chasing you.
There’s so many briefs of how not to act,
What not to do.
Loose lips sink ships.
Siloed, silent, cautious
Personal and professional
fractured into different rooms;
Seeing people walk out of them
And you can’t talk to convince them to stay
