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?

Today an old friend came to visit.
Not completely unannounced, but
not particularly invited.

The kind of friend
that once served you well,
but their ways grew outdated
when you made it out of hell.

When the pain settled to trauma,
it became entirely something else.
But your friend thinks they know best
and give involuntary help.

The kind of friend
that's over bearing
and embeds into
the skin you're wearing.

Stitching in bad habits.
Manifesting your mistakes.
The friend you try to distance from,
but you can't seem to shake.

The kind of friend
you grow apart from
once your time there
is done.

Even though you're better off,
you still wonder where they are.
The kind of friend you dearly miss,
but must love them from afar.

Well, that friend...

Came knocking at my skull today.

(They told me they might be in town,
but I didn't bother to reply.)

Quick, shut off all the lights.
Quiet, try to hide.
Maybe if I'm gone,
they won't try to come inside.

But resting in the silence,
is a small child's cry.

And they know exactly,

where,

to find

me.


▪︎ mica light ▪︎