You can hide in that extrovert all you want,
but I can see the introvert doing what introverts do best:
hiding inside.

let the race
go on and
be won and
be lost
inevitable
fast
without me


I will be
playing
on the side
of the road
with the daisies
and the crickets
and the wild-growing
fennel
​

a fleeting whoosh
to the rushing
passerby
and they a whoosh
to me

​
as clouds
hang humid
and yearn to
speckle their
summer mist
a-top puffs of
breeze and
rosy cheeks
and
saplings

​
I will be
spending my
sunshine day
with face
upturned and
hair a-mess
and
eyes not
looking where
they're going


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

If you need a little time to yourself
We can put this conversation on the shelf
There's really no hurry
No need to worry

It'll be right here where we left it
Maybe tomorrow, or maybe in a bit

Comfort from solidarity, I can't relate
The quiet chaos of my thoughts, I could never appreciate

You apologise and you say you're sorry
There's really no reason to get fret
Because I understand your story
And what you need, I'll let you get

So take some time to yourself today
And I'll find something to do
Until you're done and ready
And I'll pick back up,
Where I left off with you

Memories and emotions,
sleeping in silence.
The mind lies dormant.

The thoughts awaken,
they begin to stir,
but just let them be.

Embrace the journey.
Enjoy the seat.

For a secret pleasure it is,
discovering a personal eternity.

It's a party,
Time to celebrate,
I'm trying to get away,
Oh no, they're bringing out the cake,
I guess I'll have to wait.

I could be having a good read,
I could be watching Netflix,
I could be pretending I have a great black steed,
But instead...

I'm stuck with people I barely know,
In some unknown person's place,
Oh my god, is that Terry?
It's been weeks since I've seen her face.

I wish I was at my own house,
With my cat and with my pajamas,
Where the only thing louder than a mouse,
Would be my television screen.

It's a party,
Something to celebrate,
I stand in the corner,
And I'll just have to wait
For it to be all over.

I could be reading,
Or collecting summer clover,
But I'm listening to people, who are screaming,
I kind of regret having friends.

To hide from the world
and not tell a single soul
and not one single accompaniment
and not one single self but my own
And that's fine,
for its soil is the richest to my needs
for its songs are all I can sing...
Not to tell anyone,
not to be found by anyone,...
not to update anyone...
Not to be cared by no one...
Where peace lies, unearthed, unshattered,
and happiness is simple on its own
...

People don't bare their souls-
but books do.
And-just for a little while-
when I'm buried neck deep in their spines,
I don't feel so lonely anymore.