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A poem about social discomfort in my first poetry recital

I... Um
I am...
Ahem,
(Mumbles) -Uncomfortable 
Matt... I am Matt

So, I'm stood in front of you
And you're looking at me
And I'm talking to you
And you're listening to me
And your eyes are on me
And your minds are on me
Looking at me and listening to me and eyes on me and minds on me
And I'm thinking about what you think about me
And now I feel awkward
So I'm not coming forward
My movements seem backward
So, now you feel awkward
About drawing toward
Because I'm afraid I won't get the reward 
Of your praise

So you're going to be polite!!!
Don't be polite!
I hate when you're polite, because I won't believe it!
It's not real praise so it doesn't MEAN shit
It's not much better than telling me I'm shit
But don't tell me I'm shit!
Please!! I can't take it!

So, now you're just getting bored and frustrated
Listening to me talking about feelings I've debated

I want to get off 
I want to get out
I also want you to clap 
And I want you to shout

So I'm tense and I'm nervous and we're all feeling scared
About if this rhymes good enough to convince me you cared

And then I fell over

◄ Flowers on a lamppost, dying in the sun

Writing a poem ►

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steve pottinger

Fri 22nd Apr 2016 09:20

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