You Between the Lines

by Katie Naymon

That’s the problem with me. I constantly read the room and cater my movements, words, thoughts, which-comma-goes-where to other people.

Who could possibly see me stripped bare—exposed, vulnerable, unedited—and find something beautiful?

This is what I’ve been fearing—a cohort full of Nature People who love to sit on the forest floor and wax poetic about death.

I constantly accommodate, but then I secretly resent other people for not being as accommodating.