Get Her Alone, and She'll Talk Your Ear Off.
by Sara Morin
When social plans made turn to anxiousness,
It's not excitement, but a tingling dread
In all joints; and a wish for no stress.
To have serenity, or to pretend?
To just lay back, float away, be unseen,
Cause no ripples, but just sort of exist—
Take in the environment, be serene.
And hope this one soul may, yet won't, be missed.
Arriving alone is the worst of things—
Why be there? For how long? And who will care?
To want no one to mind what this soul brings;
May it be shyness, and a listless stare?
From an introvert, anxiety-prone:
Obligations, please leave this soul alone.