there is nothing special about tonight.

is an ordinary night
there is nothing special about it.
it is not as cold as other places i’ve been.
it is not as sweltering, or strange.
the sky is half stars and half haze.
the sidewalk is cracked cement and litter.
there are blank faces, restless fingers.
i have stopped taking note.

tonight i am not
someone who misplaced her heart and found it.
not a poet shut out of Wonderland.
not an assistant who has had two cups of coffee today,
and (still) an unfinished report.
not someone standing at the helm of a large ship,
while others await instructions in the back.
there are no heavy shoulders,
no sea-soaked shirts,
nor too many plane rides–not tonight.

there is nothing special about tonight.
there is nothing special about me.
one girl in a crowd of 300,000.
another somebody with a shadow.
bruised. (i refuse to say broken.)
and a hope i can’t let myself feel yet. (not yet.)
earphones on, music up loud.
white shoes shuffling through the dust
like the rest of us.

(is this the way You see me?
at my most
sanded down,
and de-cluttered–is this who You mean,
when You say You love me?

how freeing it is to be
just the same.)

there are names i still stumble over to say.
pieces of skin stuck to airport seats and dusty roads
that do not lead home, and may never will.
but for the first time in weeks, it feels
like i land in this space
the way that i used to,
like this city fits around me
the way that it should.

gloriously ordinary,
like most nights here.
maybe the morning will find me
a little more free than i was.


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