Once there was an extrovert who dreamed of keeping her cool
But when the guests arrived and the room bubbled
with possible stories to tell and comments to make
her wall-flower capabilities shed like snake skin
and her voice stirred the crowd
and they all swore that the weather
was controlled by her breath
pushing out words.

Once there was an extrovert who dreamed of being cool,
okay, maybe not really. Maybe just a little.
The type of cool that says they aren't but are
but she was too loud
and extrovert-ed
and her cool divorced her body a really long time ago.

Once there was an extrovert who wanted to be
the reflection of everything introvert
totally wasn't, so she spoke up
and her petals fell from her neck
onto the ground and were trampled on,
and the wall-paper started to tear
off her shoulders, and in fact
it wasn't sticking at all.

It felt kind of nice.