I'm not good with introductions,
as my lips strain to form my name.
I'm not quite sure if my handshake is firm.
Or if my smile seems forced.
I'm sorry that I sometimes bite my tongue when I talk
And run out of things to say at your parent's dinner table.
I stand awkwardly in the kitchen,
unsure if it is overbearing to help
Or rude not to.
I'm sorry if I don't want to hold your hand,
Or sit too closely to you in front of them.
I don't want to embarrass you with my presence.
The truth is, I don't want to have dinner with your family at all.
In fact,
I want nothing more than to escape their gazes,
That magnify me,
Like the cockroach,
That I am.
I'm sorry,
that I can't be
The One.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Thoughts
PoetryA collection of mostly free verse poems and short stories. Sometimes it is nice to simply clear your head. *Trigger warnings: descriptions of disturbing themes such as: body horror, death, interactions with the uncanny, topics in biology, and suici...
