Souls Out Of Uniform Poem by Tamisha Bellamy

Souls Out Of Uniform



Solid matters tread onward and forward, up and down the halls
A hand full of bodies in the kitchen
A few bodies have their own office
Every now and then other bodies are found coming in and out of stalls.
Bodies are differentiated by color, size, voice, and speed; but very well they all wear the thick threads of unity.

When all the doors are sealed and locked
Lights out
Not one body is seen and not one voice is heard
Still, the walls can never be blocked
Every spick and speck of matter that was scraped upon is not thrown in the trash, but is left to linger and roam about
This is where unity ends

Bodies have not disappeared
Take a look at this one here- in her home watching American Chopper
Have a look through the window six miles away and notice the chubby body watching a football game
The point is that the routine of these hundred bodies remain the same
All their tents covering their heads are meant to seal in their privacy
Identities, Personalities, and Egos become unveiled
In their home is where solitude begins
In their own kitchen
In their own bathroom
With their own people

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