Hole In The Head

Sometimes I just feel like I can't make sense of things. Why, I don't know. These clothes don't make sense to me. I must have put these on a long time ago. What was I thinking? I remember feeling myself comfortable in front of people -- I'm fine with being pronounced. And the grass, the trees, the humidity behind me -- all where it belongs.

What do other people know. Do they see who I am? For instance, that I'm a great cook? Are they aware of the scar on my forehead that I got when I was nine? Can they understand the joy and grief I've been through, head to toe? I wonder if I'm even in the right place. If this passing moment is worth anything.