She's Conscious

She picks up knowledge

with the greatest of ease, but cannot speak to her father without writhing with a burning anger fueled from long ago

And I watch her with her herbs as she manifests salves and incense in her parlor to go on her fifth altar but she passes her neighbor with a look that says, " you're not ready for me" and throws her head back in total disgust as she smells the hint of cigarettes in her mailman's hair

She is conscious, conscious of all your mistakes and dismantles everyone she sees

There is no contact, no fake hellos or sincere goodbyes. She is just too exhausted from meditating from 4 AM to 6. Something you should be doing, she claims

She is conscious, conscious of what you wear should it be too tight or revealing, the Dalai Lama would never approve

She is a conscious international superstar who meditates with Gabby and Deepak while taking in the scent of lavender tea. But she can't speak to her mother without snide remarks and judgmental eyes

She is conscious you see and will only involve herself with those who are as conscious as she, it's too bad there are so few who fit the bill

And she can't make friends easily lest she be tainted by the blasphemous living of life, the passion and wild woman creativity

She is conscious, hotep, at peace with her lonesome self never having the courage to say hey, "can we touch?"