But I am always so sorry around you
You who don’t know me at all
In solitude I know myself
But I forget who I am
When I am surrounded by you
You who are so big,
So tall

The intimidation
The fear
Suffocates my very own thoughts
And I forget how to think
I only know then how to please
To say sorry

In these moments
These encounters
I forget who I am,
What I want,
And what is right
I am only worried about making you
(Who is so big,
And so tall)
Comfortable, unoffended

You don’t know me
So if you hate me
You’re hating
The one who lives to please you
But oh
That is not me
To me you are
So short
So small
No,
You are nothing at all

As a person with dominate introverted intuition and auxiliary extraverted feeling, I know what is true about myself but am also receptive and believing of the opinions of others who love me, and are supposed to know me best out of the rest of the world’s population. If what they believe about me contradicts what I believe about myself, I am left feeling painfully misunderstood, whilst also questioning who I really am, and if I really am the person they believe me to be. The conflict is awfully unsettling. I am left to my own solace, which isn’t much of a comfort at all. I really wish I could just trash their opinion, it’s wrong but it’s not that simple for me, my heart, and essence.

You tell me I’m so smart
You tell me you’re so dumb
And every time I talk to you
I become so numb

The mounds of adoration you have for me
Can they really exist?
When the me I have been giving you
Feels like a vague gist

Do you think I’m peeling back my layers
As you beckon for more
Honestly, being with you is a chore
A draining anxious bore

And I loathe myself for admitting this is true
Because
On the contrary
I truly love you

dewy youth filled his firm face skin
no wrinkles around the mouth or eyes that time would one day stricken
but the ones who had even the slightest of sight could see
that longing, and very sad was he

it was subtly in his way
and soft, sad hope in the words he would say
his shoulders did not sit upright
and his smile rarely squeezed the area around his eyes

his happiness was somewhere
perhaps in summer air
hidden in the crunch and color of autumn leaves
and in the redemption of spring, with the working honey bees

winter was not his season
but he loved to long for a reason
oh he was grateful, the anxious anticipation
only fueled his profound appreciation

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing there alone without its friend near, for I knew I could not

-Walt Whitman

Audience of One

I have a deep desire to be admired
But definitely not for the way I look
But only by one, I’ve always aspired
And only by one was I shook

You have disappeared
I am left with a crowd to please
I know how
But I sware it’s not me