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Shy Soul
November 5, 2014
It is a nightmare to hear my own name
Rolling off sincere yet traitorous lips.
Trembling for fear that I may go insane,
Trying not to bite at my fingertips.
I retreat behind an aegis of hair,
Choking, sputtering as I try to speak.
Breath turning shallow, running out of air
My chest throbs, vision darkens, knees go weak.
I am assaulted by anxious faces.
They wonder if I even have a voice.
I aspire to dwell in good graces.
To answer of not-- do I have a choice?
Embarrassed, I endeavor not to cry.
I can’t help but loath this thing they call “shy”.
© Sandy H., Woodbridge, CT
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What inspired me to write this poem? Myself, as well as anyone out there who understands what it is like to be shy. Sometimes shyness can be one of the hardest things to overcome.