The road is dark, the wind is cold with frost,
I know just where I am, yet I am lost;
I cannot ask for help, although I try,
And so I look to you in the night sky;
Your light is there, so soft, and yet so strong,
My stars, whom I have loved for oh, so long;
And as I cry to you, my mother stars,
Blurred by my tears, stretch out your loving arms
And call to me 'Sweet child, you're not alone,
My child, look up, you'll never be alone'

Little by little
I come no closer to understanding
Why I long for closeness
(An introvert like me)

My friends might deny it
But I know
Why the dogs don't tug on their leashes
And why I never wave hello to their owners

There are moments when
I am reminded of a stranger saying
"It's difficult, huh?
Having a sister that's an extrovert?"

In the middle of the night I wake up thinking
"No, but what's difficult
Is wanting to be the best friend I can be
(An introvert like me)"

We collide in this
world we're living.
Time stops as we see each other.
Everything moves in slow motion.
Your eyes hide an emotion.
My heart overflows.
My brains lose all signals.
My hands are trembling.
My heartbeat is racing.
My voice is shaky.
Knees are feeling weak.
I can bearly speak.
This is what you
do to me.
It should be illegal.
How you take control
over all my senses.
The passion I feel within.
Your are my majestic wings.
I will never forget.
My beautiful sin.

Your mouth is too full of the words you're about to say to swallow what I'm telling you. Your ears are too blocked with the sounds of what you think you're hearing to listen to my desperate cry for help. Your eyes are too clouded by what you want to see to be able to perceive what you've done. You're oblivious; can't you see you're killing me? I love you.

I've only got one bar
on my phone and there's only
one more between here and home.
Ten dollars in my pocket may as well
be a thousand. Like a penny
in the fusebox, I could make it last
until the lights go out. There's a cowboy
band playing. A wooden Indian
by the door. I don't think he listens
to their stories anymore. He's quiet
on the subject. He's quite an object
of curiosity. Instead of two-stepping
all night long, maybe I should take
that Indian home. Use the last bar
to call Coleen. Tell her to put a ***
of cowboy coffee on. We'll tell stories
of our own. Sing songs in the old way
about better days when we were young.

truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just  stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.

it was too hard to constantly be around
some who
i loved
but didn't love me
or at least
"not in the same way"

Laying in your arms
is my personal retreat
and man

have I been stressed out.

I send up my prayer at rocket speed
and the answer parachutes down sedately,
-in no hurry but at a pace I can accommodate
and my finite self can understand,
while the caresses of peace on my soul,
can last the whole day through.