things hidden on the surface of skin

By Sydney Johnson

These stanzas are the documentation of the pieces of people I’m allowed to see.

there is a woman who carries one hundreds in her purse like they are twenties
she wears robes around her house even when she has guests
and laughs like the world is ending

there was a man who brought the nastiest protein bars to me
he lived in an empty house with empty decor
i know very little of him but i know his generosity

there is a girl whose first instinct is to judge
she does it as naturally as humans become envious 
it seeps out of her like facial oil
it is part of her all the same

that same girl talks to me about literature
her face and limbs contort on top of the car seat with marvel
when she is tired you can see it in the way she walks
it practically seeps out of her

there is a person who thinks long before they speak
it is not a testament to their ego, i think, but instead of their genuity 
to answer after thinking can rest between arrogance and sincerity
i can sense no ill intent in their silence
i could be wrong

the same person writes songs as if they were letters
and has a strange, strange atmosphere to them
i could not tell you why

they remind me of an awkward conversation when the sun is lowering in the sky 
and the steam from a childhood tea recipe curls into the air, 
only seen in the escaping beam of light 
from the drowning sun

Performance

Process

A lot of important thoughts and conversations with my brother and mom had already worked their way into this piece so my interpretation of certain things comes through. Although the anonymity and almost vagueness of the people is intentional, it took a long time for me to realize that I wanted this piece to be more about what I’ve noticed in the world and how it translates to what I notice about people. So the vagueness of the people is very intentional, but not the words. Take the words for face value, they mean exactly what they say.