A loud noise, the look on someones face, a crowded room.
I can’t breathe.
Walking on eggshells? No. I am the egg. Fragile, and very quickly coming unglued.
I want to leave.
I don’t know them, they are having a conversation and looking this way. I wonder the subject:
Is it me?
Why am I this way? With the sweating, the paranoia, the tightness of the chest… What do I do? What’s the next step?
Perhaps therapy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Thank you so much for reading my work! Any feedback or support that you have to offer is accepted and appreciated.
About the Creator
BrettNotGreg
-Thirty-something enigma with a wide spectrum of interests.
-Heavily anchored in poetry.
Keep reading
More stories from BrettNotGreg and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (4)
So well written and so relatable. Love the way you put it down! Great great poem.
Great! Everyone wonders if they are being talked about. We live a nail salon that doesn’t use the chemical; and they talk very low to each other in Vietnamese … one time I asked what they were saying and they laughed and said they were NOT talking about us. 🤣🤣🤣
Like Dharrsh...found this helluva relatable. Well written.
Omggg, this was so relatable! Loved this!