POEM: Mask of the Introvert [PoMo Day 28 – Confessional]

I vibrate wariness 
at the approach of strangers,

and have a face within my
Janus repertoire 
that is labeled: "off-putting."

An approaching stranger,
having passed by those cues,
will -- at some point --
realize something is off,
as if I'm holding my breath
'til the conversation's end -
but not that, precisely
At any rate, 
they will yield to whatever it is,
in due time.
[Maybe, I seem contagiously itchy.]

Remarkably, I went decades
without realizing any of this.

To be fair, I never get a good look
at myself
at the moment I'm meeting a stranger.
[And, if I did, I wouldn't have the
brainpan bandwidth 
to do anything with the information.]

Now, I'm training myself
to behave elsewise,
but the score is still
50 years to 1.

This entry was posted in Confessional, Free Verse, poem, Poetry and tagged Confessional, Free Verse, poem, poetry, Vers Libre by B Gourley. Bookmark the permalink.