Creeping hands grab at paper
any scrap to play with
hidden in my pockets
like the feelings that i’v to lock inside me
as I breath heavily
hearing people passing laughing
wondering “are they looking at me”
dread setting in thinking
what if someone i know see’s me
dressed in my uniform
hair a mess no make up on my face
waiting for a bus thats here tens mins too late
cause once ive to stand and wiat
suddenly indecision creeps in about my faith
anxiety
claiming me yet again
depression
making me weak
heads racing still words i don’t speak
wondering why you dont speak to me
driving me to insanity
wondering why social skills are not natural
hiding in the shadowed alleys comes easier for me
then standing there
on a packed well lit street

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