Unbeknownst to those whose radars only
Register high fliers
I was at that party. It was fine, as parties go
But for me, the wide open world
Of high voice, loud energy
Has me crammed into corners I never asked for
A stain on a torn blanket set ablaze by extrovert energy.
I can’t connect if I can’t
So the shell I shell out to parties
Is my body, but not my full mind
Body critically conscious of how it is
Missing it’s biggest asset
The part that can make it pass for attractive
While the mind is confined by
Barriers, thinking it’s been left behind
Because it has nothing of worth
To contribute to anyone
And no one notices its efforts anyway
The way I write online is the antithesis of my anonymity.
It is the way I wish my vocal cords could vibrate at parties.
While chat rooms are dive bars and
Forums are convention centres filled with competitors
My blog is my personal table for two where I do all the talking.
I don’t even know that anyone is listening
But the unshared pieces of myself I don’t bring to parties
(For fear someone will take a bite and unceremoniously –
Or worse, exuberantly –
Spit me out)
Those pieces have to go somewhere
Or they’ll go to waste.
Writing is a desperate attempt to show
Who no one really sees,
Fill in the shadows that few
Recognize as my features,
Give substance to that social shell
So people have something to miss
If I’m not around.
The way I’m viewed at parties
Is Dorothy pre-Oz
A sketch in black and white
With none of the colourful details
Ready for discussion.
But I can’t connect if I can’t
So my online words feel like whispers
Barely leaving my lips
I don’t know if they’ve had an effect
Until someone whispers back.
I cannot connect by simply yelling
THIS IS ME over and over and over again –
Connection is formed when someone
Hears my pleas, and decides to answer
Directly. Until then, I wade through the
Chatter in my mind of
Oh my God, why would anyone want to read what I wrote?
Waiting to hear,
I read your words. Can we talk?