I don't mean your name.
Thats just some words
Your parents gave you.
I mean who are you?
What are you?
I dont mean your job.
Others do the same work as you
Some of them even better than you.
But what are you?
Until you find out
Who and what you are,
You get pushed around
Into lumpy crowds.
And if you resist,
You get sent alone
Down long dark hallways
With red lit signs
Marked EXIT,
All pointing in diffrent directions
In echoing sky scrapers
With self service elevators.
I found the outline of myself
By touching against you.
I don't know why
You touched me back
Instead of all the other men
Who have reached out for you.
But somehow,
Whatever I am
Touched you.
I knew it when you caught me
Staring at your legs.
Your eyes slid
All the way up
My line of sight
To my eyes,
And you spent
What seemed like an hour
Softening there.
I'm glad I couldn't help looking.
Its your walk.
It makes a butterfly
Of the hem of your dress
Against your legs,
And I am attracted to
Such soft and supple things.
I saw myself living,
For the first time
In your eyes.
And ever since then,
I've been able to walk
Down a city block
Full of strangers,
And grin, and sing, and smile,
Just because I feel good,
And I never even feel foolish any more.
Thank you.
Whoever you are.