Sometimes, I will cry. By then it was too late. I will look at people and love them, even when they so quickly forget me. Sometimes I am buying a newspaper in a strange city and think "I am about to learn what it's like to live here.
As a way of getting in touch with my origins every night I set the alarm clock for the time I was born so that waking up becomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do is take a reading of the day and try to flow with it like when you're riding a mechanical bull and you strain to learn the pattern quickly so you don't inadverantly resist it.
Because I was not She. Arrow Thin Right Icon A short love poem for your self is always in season. A very short poem, this: in just four lines, Lawrence underscores how self-pity is a uniquely human flaw, not observable elsewhere in the natural world.
I am moving in a better direction now. I'm not saying it should be this way. I will be strange and wild, winsome and free.
She, the image of who I thought I should be.
Keep that truth close. I, who am smart and stubborn and strong.