It’s really tiring,

reading between every line.

As if people living their everyday lives,

somehow reflects on how they feel about me.

 

My thoughts circle around myself.

My actions circle around others,

and my addictions.

There’s no continuity

between the two.

Even if I could find something to want,

I wouldn’t know the first thing

about going and getting it.

 

I sit and wait, for opportunities

to present themselves.

Only to sit there some more,

and watch them walk past.

 

I feel so uncomfortable in my own skin.

I wouldn’t dance

if you locked my alone

in my own bedroom.

 

Any form of self-expression

especially if subject to immediate judgment

I simply don’t do.

 

These poems seems so far removed,

from the people who read them.

anything more than this?

Nah, I could never…

Then again, that’s what I said about these too.