A room of unknown faces,
they all claim to have met me.
I'm expected to go and say hello
but I haven't seen them since I was 3.
-
Forcibly tied to those I don't know,
it's supposed to be so great.
I'm hiding behind every fake smile,
each hug makes me suffocate.
-
Petting, teasing, prattle,
I hate it but must abide.
Every comment about my height,
makes want to run and hide.
-
I feel the tears seeping through,
but I have to keep them back.
They say to keep on pretending,
and so I continue this act.
-
As soon as I step into my home,
I find a room for emotions to fly.
Locked door and knees to chest,
so I can sigh, wry and cry.
YOU ARE READING
The Quiet Club
PoetryThe extrovert ideal - The omnipresent belief that the ideal self is gregarious, alpha and comfortable in the spotlight. But how can you be those things if you're not wired to do so? Take a look through the eyes of those deemed "quiet" or "shy" as th...