Social Anxiety,
Doesn't mean that I'm weird,
You don't know me at all,
And I'll make it very clear,
I have many talents,
That you don't even see,
I'm good at many things,
And that's what makes me me.
When I go out,
I get quite overwhelmed,
The panic attacks are awful,
self conciousness turned up to 10,
I get mean looks
everywhere from strangers,
Staring into my face,
Trying to read me like a newspaper.
Getting laughed at isn't nice,
It doesn't help at all,
How would you like to be made feel, So very small?
Calling me awkward,
Making me feel like I'm less,
But wouldn't you act the same out in public,
If your mind was a ****** mess?
Step into my shoes,
And I'll give you what I have,
Is it funny anymore?
Now do you feel very bad?
You were mean to me,
When I was struggling like this,
How does it feel in my shoes,
If the perspective was switched?
This is a poem about how it feels to suffer from crippling social anxiety, and how society can treat you differently or like an outsider because of how you act due to having it.
