From the right and left,
my phobia attacks me.
Smells of unfamiliarity
and rain in my boots
climb the peaks of my
grand smelling utensil.
I wonder if the woman
sitting next to me has
noticed the smell of my
feet I washed so hastily,
or the body that my soap
didn't meet, or the weak
cologne wrapped around
my neck.
Quite possibly, she can't
smell a thing; her nose
may be too stopped up;
perhaps it isn't listening.
In reality, my senses blind me.
Alone, I cannot smell the
wonderful and horrid odors
of my body. She stands up
and leaves; I let my mind digress;
however, I am met with the fact
that whoever sits next will
make me face the same
sub-conscious test.
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
From the right and left,
my phobia attacks me.
Smells of unfamiliarity
and rain in my boots
climb the peaks of my
grand smelling utensil.
I wonder if the woman
sitting next to me has
noticed the smell of my
feet I washed so hastily,
or the body that my soap
didn't meet, or the weak
cologne wrapped around
my neck.
Quite possibly, she can't
smell a thing; her nose
may be too stopped up;
perhaps it isn't listening.
In reality, my senses blind me.
Alone, I cannot smell the
wonderful and horrid odors
of my body. She stands up
and leaves; I let my mind digress;
however, I am met with the fact
that whoever sits next will
make me face the same
sub-conscious test.
Request permission to use this poem