Crowded room with quiet voices,
I stand in line with anxiety thrusting through me.
In a line with a board spouting words,
Different flavours and styles steaming below.
Choices of familiar or new,
Too many people to really choose.
Soft voice, cracked with fear.
I sit in the crowded room,
Separating myself from the crowd,
Silent and lost in my mind.
My drink is served and I begin to write.
Muffin crumbed, drink stirred,
The day begins in quiet anxiety.