Hiding in the bathroom
until my fear goes away;
fear of what
absent minds think of me
between their grubby socks,
bad hair and alcohol.
I could have been alone today,
counting the minutes
of self-enforced bed rest.
Maybe taken a little time
to organize my thoughts,
made battle plans of how to cope.
I've felt the air too long,
I think I'm oxidizing.
I str e a c h
my thoughts to transparency
so I can see right through them,
analyse the funny creature
behind it all.
I wish I knew where to sit,
place myself strategically.
Fake mingle,
mouth dry with vapid sentences.
I couldn't stand it though
so instead, I've locked myself in.
Old papers always
had conversations with me.
The leaves would talk forever,
if I let them.
I never had to turn left
at the end of the hall.