Having coffee alone, while studying attempts at connection, all around me. When I cannot hear what people are saying, I get to hear so much more.
Meeting Up
Am I rambling as usual?
Doesn't this sound all fake?
But don't I have to fit in?
Don't I have to connect?
Am I revealing too much?
Does he even believe me?
Does she care two hoots?
Have they drifted away?
Who am I talking to?
Is anyone really listening?
Is my loneliness showing?
Will they use it against me?
What matters to me, does it matter only to me?
Can I go home now?
And never come out again?
3 comments:
From Miles: For me, your poem is a lovely symbol of all the suffering in the world.
It exists as a function of our mind telling us we are not okay; we are not children of God but children of our parents and our upbringing and our schools and our societies and our guilt and fear.
Unexpressed, we pretend life is grand. Expressed, we open ourselves up to the most important question we can ask ourselves: Is there another way? Expressed, we can be true to ourselves to the degree that we have unshackled our minds by saying what many would not say.
Lovely comment up there! Although I really prefer going alone. That's how I've listened to more stories. :)
There are a few restaurants where I come from where its pretty strange to be spotted alone. Anyway, I keep up with my eccentric routine and go alone. I get entertained by the staff so much- anybody who isn't waiting on another customer comes up to me and starts a story- about farmlands, about mangoes, about leaving places, going to new places - such fun.
Oh and I am in love with the picture accompanying this post. :)
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