By Christy Speca
I am alone. I wander through a maze of people;
I am surrounded by crowds everywhere I go.
I am in the midst of many people, but I am not one of them.
I am alone.
I am called a social butterfly.
My memory contains more stories and secrets than my
Mouth can share. I am alone.
People track me down as a shoulder to cry on,
A sounding board for new ideas,
A wealth of advice or just an ear to listen.
Where I go I am followed. I am alone.
Quiet escapes me, but still I am alone.
My acquaintances are better people who live better lives.
I can be counted on not to judge
I am a buffer when difficult topics arise
I am thanked, I am respected, I am applauded.
I am alone.
Isolated in thought and dream, my mind wanders
I am searching for something, something more.
I am alone.
I am the Great Salt Lake where no being can survive.
I am constantly being poured into, but there is no overflow.
I am the dam, nowhere for my grief and pain to flow
I am alone.
I am an actress. I excel in what ever role is needed.
I settle for apathy. And through it all,
I am alone.