Frame of Reference

Yes, you can see in
through the glass
in all those rooms that lack walls
or curtains.

You can watch me dance and cry,
watch my anger bubble wildly,
watch me stumble in the night
like a child lost in a maze.

And yes, I know you are watching,
creating your own story
to explain the things you see,
a creation of sorts, almost true,

almost real, certainly worth telling
yourself, a frame of reference,
of sanity
in a place where there is none

you can understand.

About this poem

Most of us only see bits and pieces of each other. And from that, we decide.

The picture was taken in downtown Washington, DC.

Tom