I sit here in this shadowed corner,
a spotlight illuminating my table
and the blank page
staring accusingly at me.
My stillness here stands out,
A graphic contrast to the other patrons
drinking and shooting pool,
singing along with the jukebox
and congratulating each other on a good shot.
A new group arrives,
Looking for an open table.
One recognizes me and invites me to join them.
I shrug, not really caring,
but I'm not writing anyway,
so I pack up and join their table.
While I know everyone there
by name,
they still don't know
The Real Me...
The one who prefers solitude,
The one who hates other people
because she can't stand herself,
The one who appears to enjoy herself
but is hiding loneliness and pain
behind the mask of her smile,
The one who has made herself
dead inside
because it's better than feeling too much,
The one who is always alone
even in the midst of a crowd.
The next day.
I sit in this shadowed corner,
a spotlight illuminating my table
and the blank page staring accusingly at me.
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