Guess my plans have to wait
Because you don't know how to text.
And now is the part
Where I assume the worst
Assume I'm in trouble
Draw a scream from the screen
And it's still ringing.
Why do I have to pick up?
What do I even say?
Muffled breaths and background voices.
Does this mean you're angry with me?
Did you like what I said?
My fingers feel sweaty and
If I could drop this phone
I would.
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...
