I am just a moth
In a world of butterflies
Nonetheless, I fly.

When I was seven
My school
Held a glass blowing event
I got to help blow a really pretty
Blue one
I took it with me
Everywhere
Despite my mother’s warnings
And it shattered
So...
What makes you trust me with your heart?

That elusive quality
Essential for success
Seemingly in everyone
Except you

It's a funny feeling,
to have a conversation
with a field hockey ball

It wasn't even a conversation,
really
Mostly I just gave it a baleful glare
For being hit straight towards the cage
And stopping
RIGHT BEFORE IT

It truly didn't affect me in any way,
simply my inner angst
at my poor performance
being taken out on this innocent round
piece of plastic

Mostly, for eluding me
Yet, still stopping,
not by my efforts
But by the lack of force applied to it

It could have gone in
Or,
It could have been blocked

Instead,
it chose to rest
just before the finish line
taunting me,
Proving to me,
that my effort is completely unnecessary
That,
even an invisible entity
known as air resistance + friction
can do my job for me

Oh,
By now you're probably wondering
who I am in this scenario
Considering,
If I was an offender,
attempting to shoot
I'd desire the ball to cross
And I'd push it in
rather than subject it to my resentment

You, see
I,
am the goalie

He's a Peacock
Strutting about
Poised
Primped and preened
With feathers neatly arranged
My little brother
In his new choir clothes

He called me dense
It still sticks to me
Not because
I'm hurt
or anything

But because,
I find it funny
I don't think I am
I do notice things around me

Honestly though,
half the time
it's a real pain to be
aware of everything

I know what I need to
I focus on what I deem important

Yet...maybe my lack of societal awareness
has dubbed me dense?

I certainly do sport a happy go lucky attitude
Often childish
Book smart,
but often confused
seeming
And I certainly do have
the annoying habit of people pleasing
while being shy
and diffident
at times

It's funny
I almost feel smarter with myself
When I'm with others
self-consciousness
self-doubt
social anxiety
naturally takes hold

It sometimes places me
in the role of under dog
Or is it dark horse?
The one,
who surprisingly pulls through
Surprisingly,
has abilities

I'm a little bit like a wave I suppose
On a stormy night
Lashing this way and that
as I please
Sometimes broken down
other times mowing my way through

So, maybe I am dense
Maybe I'm not
I don't know

Life...
can be described by many adjectives
But, let me keep mowing through
On my own merry way
Chugging like,
as my little brother would say,
A chu chu train