Driving home
From Toronto
I had to stop
Before the ***
Took over me.
Underneath
An overpass
I had to do it,
I couldn't last,
I put the car
In park.

Whilst waddling
My zipper
I noticed a blue box.
Of course I meandered,
As I wasn't stranded
So I took a look.

A dead and frozen cat.
That's a cruel fact.

I will hold you
Like the sun
Holds the moon
And the ocean
Holds the sky.

Those who do not experience it cannot fully understand
Life becomes a struggle, living is an extra challenge
Everyone becomes nervous, everyone experiences shyness
But not everyone knows the phobia of socialization

Being around others quickly becomes exhausting
Meeting many new people can be painful
Our minds are overworked through simple conversation
Our thoughts cannot leave how we appear, or how we are seen

The worst is that we see it,
We see how miserable we make ourselves
And how much we wish we were like someone else

We wish we could eat in a public restaurant,
not have to wait to go home to use the bathroom,
to walk into a crowded room,
attend the party everyone's going to,
instead of arranging a pity part for one

We need you to know that we do not refuse to do things with you because we don't like you,
We deny ourselves your company because:
she will be there
we woke up and felt bloated today
our hair doesn't look that nice today
he's there and I think he likes me
Because the way that place is laid out forces everyone to look at the entrance when the doors open and I can't handle all the eyes judging me until my face is red causing people to ask me whats wrong which is when I become upset because everywhere I go someone asks me whats wrong so then I shy away hoping to be someone else which makes me look stuck up not shy Then we'll need to sit and your going to want to sit with your friends whom I do not know well enough to sit with for an hour while they talk to you occasionally asking me questions that I answer oddly and again become red making everything weirder than it is Making them pity me and I hate their pity

Even writing this I cringe, because I  hate being this girl.

My mind is never empty

Like those days with clouds moving in different directions
a foggy landscape,
zombie weather, my brother claims,
but with particles zooming in all directions
or so my unfinished chemistry homework says.

Calendars filled with graphite lettering
stacked upon piles of papers,
discarded months swept into heaps
of forgotten leaves, neglected notes.
Ink bleeding in sporadic shapes,
lines of fatigue that never begin or end.

Faint melodies
trickle through the crisp
autumn leaves, vibrantly yellow against
dark, damp bark,
distantly elegant, distantly cheerful.

Winter winds whistling,
sharp and painful,
hurt, most definitely
torn arguments and shredded papers
and tears and grief and hope and defeat and anger and frustration.

And suddenly,
nothing.

I’m just trying to get some sleep.