Apr 2015
Sometimes,
I can't help but feel
Dumb in a room full of ears.
The mouth moves
And nothing comes out,
Nothing but threadbare breath,
Wasted and worn
From words of small form,
So when the word counts,
No substance comes out.
Sometimes,
I can sit and talk
Without saying a word.
The eyes flit
And fold into slits,
A nod here and there, moves
As if I agree
With their trending theory,
An attempt to conform
With this act I perform.
Sometimes,
I run out of words
To share to the room.
I don't move,
Just stand there forlorn,
A husk of myself, caught
In the act
As I run out facts
That I can recall
To look quite normal.
Sometimes...
Sometimes...
Sometimes,*
Friends are strangers
Who know your name.
I can't help but feel
Dumb in a room full of ears.
The mouth moves
And nothing comes out,
Nothing but threadbare breath,
Wasted and worn
From words of small form,
So when the word counts,
No substance comes out.
Sometimes,
I can sit and talk
Without saying a word.
The eyes flit
And fold into slits,
A nod here and there, moves
As if I agree
With their trending theory,
An attempt to conform
With this act I perform.
Sometimes,
I run out of words
To share to the room.
I don't move,
Just stand there forlorn,
A husk of myself, caught
In the act
As I run out facts
That I can recall
To look quite normal.
Sometimes...
Sometimes...
Sometimes,*
Friends are strangers
Who know your name.
For some people, social situations are agonising, tiring events which leaves us drained and isolated.
