To be in a group is to feel you belong,
To never have to be lonely or strong.
Or so it seems to the one standing by,
All the friends laughing on the grass in the sun,
But to not be yourself is actually not fun.
I don’t think people like me run in groups.
Their love for silence can be misunderstood.
They’d be the ones staring away
Trying to figure out what’s going on around them,
Wondering about every face.
They don’t like to please a crowd,
But rather a soul,
And that needn’t be loud.
Although sometimes, I love my voice to be heard,
When I’m arguing something that can’t be observed.
I’ve tried many times to change,
To fit the description, to round out my edges,
But I keep coming back, and filling these pages.
No amount of alcohol, loud music, and being in bed,
Will chase away the tumbling waves in my head.
To sit here and analyze, and criticize, is to be me.
And maybe many others do feel similarly.
This man with a baby just cycled by,
A look of hopelessness and wonder,
He stared into my eyes.
Maybe people aren’t as shallow as they seem,
And maybe one day, I’ll find my team.
But that can only happen,
If I let my eyes, with realness, gleam.