Eyes meet,
a soft glance,
then quickly away.

Fingers twitch,
but we don’t say.

A thousand words
rest on my lips,
but silence speaks louder.

cold, blue skies
crisp air
and sun in my eyes
breathing deeply amongst the crowd
I feel like an installation
in a hotel lobby
or a decorative vase
with dry arrangements

empty yet amused eyes
peer beyond me
while I’m duct-taped to this pedestal
nailed into a wall
the frame of a painting
sitting in a display case.

Fragments of people,

with their words and their faces --


their shyness exposed.

My company ,
Is home.
Though others fill
My battery ,
True company,
Is alone.
Taking pleasure
In silence ,

Cosy in my dome.

hold me
for but a moment
less the dew
be scarred

for to
clutch me tightly
is to stop
my life

the hop
of the sparrow
that dared to
come near

The famous writer

is awfully shy, no one --


attends to his clothes.

My fern child
a little frond all rolled up tight
forever hiding from the light
why is it you are not like the others
a clever sister and noisy brothers
some of us find we can thrive in shade
I guess that's just the way you were made

It does not exist,

real life is an invention --


of the shy people.

When I am fond of someone,
I've always hidden.
Locking eyes with someone I'm so curious about
just has this feeling that makes me want to hide.
I've always hidden.
Behind mom's leg,
behind my locker,
in the details of my lunch,
in my comforter,
in my headphones,
in my fantasies.