people are people like people are people by sofi.

A poetry feature about how nothing really ever makes sense.

Hazel

and

sofi <3

Jul 07, 2025

“A photo I had taken of a memory I no longer have access to.” - Sofi.

Readers, today we return for another poetry showcase. Our featured piece this time is one from

sofi <3

! You can catch her over in her Substack, but here’s a little more about her:

“I am 23 years old, queer, Indian-Pakistani, and a Northern California native. I studied sociology and film/tv at UCLA, though poetry has always been my secret lover. Writing has always been a form of therapy for me, a way to process emotion I was discouraged to release growing up.
After a medical treatment a year ago I happened to lose several years of my memory. Since then I've been writing more fervently to organize the consequential chaos of my brain and to also reestablish my relationship with the English language (which was also roughened by amnesia). I now hope to offer a sincere voice and unique perspective through my words.”

And sofi’s poem for this feature, people are people like people are people, was written back in January of this year. This piece walks the tightrope of amnesia— and establishes itself as “a time-bending manner,” similar to how sofi’s brain works now. Let’s dive in.

people are people like people are people so think about it: how it’s less effort, listening to quiet things than loud & when cold water makes post-showers more bearable than aftermaths of hot baths & when your heart thumps maniacally you sense death’s edges, when it beats undemanding you cease to age & your favorite pen stays unused so that the ink will never empty & you cut holes from ears’ flesh and cartilage, fill them with metal and only then are the less-than ears hear complimented & when your soles settle tender into wet grass but retract from dust-nothings creeping wooden floors it is like this unraveling cosmos, a god’s amorphous russian doll, finding black, black soil at the true center, washing hands under a faucet then blotting them dry so the wet doesn’t cling bacteria, crying in the shape of a whole body until gashes split and wounds heal back correctly, shoveling dirt into your mouth, shutting red, red lips around it, slipping oxygen and saliva into its fertilizer, taking a vow of silence so that your jaw stays in place & a spore sprouting, branching eager through your ravenous bloodstream, taking root, finding itself at the epicenter of universe, it is like this:

What were some of your inspirations when writing this piece?

I was inspired by my own habits and quirks, to be honest. I started noting all of the almost ritualistic behaviors I'd engage in, many of which did not seem to have genuine purpose or were paradoxical in nature. I watched others in my life, also (in a non-creepy way), comparing my own idiosyncrasies and my senses' instincts with theirs.
Obviously, there is a whole lot we don't understand about our collective living's host, but there is also what we do understand and have no logic attached to. This is what I'd define as magic or in the realm of. The joining of the nonsensical and the tedious. The equations that spurt answers in a different language.

Is there anything you hope the reader will take away from it?

I hope someone else may also recognize the sheer nonsense that ties us all together. The enormity of the mundane and the mystic-madness of being a living thing. With this understanding it is a lot easier to justify one's life, I think.

Do you have any additional thoughts you'd like to share about this piece?

While dealing with the implications of retrograde amnesia, I became in tune with the reflection of my body since the physicality of it belonged to the little bit I could still recognize. It is jarring, having this disconnect of your life's chronology. This piece was written to come across in a time-bending manner similar to the way my brain works now.

There are poems and writings which explore the madness of the human condition— why do we exist, and how things are the way they are. And while this piece could be compared to those, it speaks to me in a way the others don’t.

We focus so much of our time on made up concepts, stressing over deadlines, the way we appear, and trying to make sense of a non-sensical world. Both bad and good things happen, and somehow we learn— or we devolve.

But it all comes to an end… everything except for the non-sense.

Aside from the message of the poem, something I really appreciate is sofi’s vulnerability in writing and sharing it. Not just the poem, but for sharing her own experiences of living with amnesia— how these pull into, and help shape the tone of her writing.

Thank you for letting us feature and showcase your poem, sofi!

What are your thoughts on this piece? Let us know in the comments below.

people are people like people are people by sofi.

A poetry feature about how nothing really ever makes sense.

What were some of your inspirations when writing this piece?

Is there anything you hope the reader will take away from it?

Do you have any additional thoughts you'd like to share about this piece?

Discussion about this post