a poet's impression: in the after image

She looks at me in a way  
that says she doesn’t like me    
and that she’s not very comfortable being photographed    
afterwards I smile, with a thank you and    
she slips back into the crowd of people    
that’ll ignore me this weekend    
   
I didn’t like her words, they reminded me    
too much of the things I don’t have    
and secretly want, but will never tell anybody    
that I want    
because I’m too strong and too weak    
to admit that I crave something so basic    
   
And she’s not the first to look at me    
like I’m an ant on the side walk of life    
someone that she could step on, or pass   
without ever really considering my existence    
past the lens of my camera that I carry like a shield    
to protect me from the glare of faces    
that would rather be elsewhere, unphotographed    
   
Sitting at home, in the chatter of my own mind    
buzzing from words and people that set my soul on fire    
I consider the afterimages of the people now set to paper    
2D images of someone’s soul, that can’t quite capture    
the essence of the life behind their eyes  
   
Their faces speak a hundred different stories    
I am tired but happy    
I am sad behind my smile    
I am discontent    
I am playful    
I am awake    
I am hungry  
I am here    
   
© Indie Adams 2013