please excuse me for a second
i just need to clear my head
so there's no more expectations,
yes, i think they'll soon be dead.
stay a while, please, do help me
with this clearing of my mind,
all i need is your attention,
yes, i think that should be fine!
first let's start with reputation,
i've a nasty one for sure,
always doing as i'm told,
i would never cause a stir.
i would never be disgruntled
nope, just smile all the day,
life is happy and i know it
or at least that's what they say.
i'm naive as my face makes me
and as childish as my size,
i couldn't think a mean thought,
nope, not even if i tried.
i've a cheery disposition
drenched in colors oh so bright
i've a temperament so peaceful
i could never pick a fight.
i'm a cute one, just adorable!
you can't match this childish charm!
and for that, i need protection
so i never can be harmed.
well the truth is i've been hurting
from the undercover me,
i am hiding ugly demons
with this this innocent facade
demons steeped in opposition
to my every wholesome whim,
i love colors of the gloom,
dreary fog gives peace within.
i can utter spiteful words
though i try to hold my tongue
and i know more than i'll tell you,
i just like to play along.
life is more than simply happy,
there's dimension, it's not flat,
it is filled with joy and sorrow,
and mediocrity at that.
true, I am not one for conflict,
but the thought of fighting back
can grow strong enough to make me
launch an introvert's attack.
-D.B.
5/6/2013
Showing posts with label introvert. Show all posts
Showing posts with label introvert. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Steve (Part 1)
So this started out as a poem and then I decided to change it around a bit and make it a short story, which I have never written before. It's not done by any means, but I've been really busy lately and I'm not sure when I'll get around to finishing it so I figured I'll put it up just for the heck of it. So, without further adieu here's the start of my story...
I met Steve at the Irving gas station, just standing there smoking a butt beneath his fading green hat in the mid April drizzle, an Adam's Tree Service truck just behind and the air pump in front.
My tires thrive on air pumps and I feed them through Sunoco's at least once a week because old rubber on a rusty, fading car gets hungry fast.
Today, my favorite pump was blocked by road work and the people that come with it. I grudgingly crawled along the torn up, one lane stretch while avoiding the cones that cut me off from my tires' life line, all the while cursing each bump in the road that added insult to my injured tires. And I know that air is cheap anywhere, or at least it is for now. It's just that cheap air that's set off from the world, and all the people that are in it, comes from Sunoco, so they get at least a dollar a week out of me.
Irving, on the other hand, digs deeper into the wallet of this broke college kid: upwards of 20 bucks a week and a rewards member, though I have yet to reap the benefits of the latter. Even still, Irving is my vendor of choice for the fossil fuels. Their cheap gas is the main course for ol' BessyRu because if she dies on my way back to school, she can die knowing that less of my money has been wasted in her hypothetically useless tank. A few months back, I did notice an air pump there but until today, I had dismissed the idea. Irving may have cheap gas but its strategic location is not my favorite: multiple lanes of traffic next to a four way intersection that's right off a highway, and let's not forget all the people that come with that mess.
But one of my front tires is down to 10 and two of the others were grumbling on my way to church this morning so I'm forced to rattle on over to Irving instead of letting the poor things starve. I pull into one of the parking spots next to the Irving air machine, being careful not to hit the guy with the green baseball hat that just ran to his truck with a gas container.
This pump is an island. It's situated between the diesel pumps and the regular pumps, which are book ended on one side by my favorite spot, the one that's furthest away from the other cars and the people that are in them. As I'm digging around for quarters, a couple of these people pull up on the other side of the unfamiliar machine and, rather than make obligatory small talk ending in some socially expected graciousness, I decide to wait it out in the car.
That's when I notice him.
It seemed he had already noticed me, though I'm not sure why. It might have been my unusually small stature that doesn't quite belong on the ground between a tire and an air pump. It might have been that I resembled someone he once knew and cared about. It might have even been my plates, which identify me as being originally from Massachusetts.
Massachusetts.
The great state whose name and troubles have been splattered all over the news since some sick yet pitiable person decided to bring about horrifying explosions and war-like chaos during the marathon that draws multitudes every year. Driving around with Massachusetts plates this week has been like walking around school with a post it on my forehead saying that a relative died: The sorry eyes, the patronizing smiles, the encouraging looks, and knowing what's going on in the minds of the people that go with all of that.
But no matter why he noticed me, there he was. Standing in front of the car, but just a bit off to my right so it wasn't completely awkward. Just for good measure, I stare out the left window while making faces as if I was trying to remember something important. As for what could be so important in the life of a college kid that she can't even step out of her car, which been parked for two minutes at this point, I really couldn't tell you.
This is when I realize that the people next to me are just using the other air machine space as a parking spot, probably so they can go in and get a pack of cigarettes or some lotto tickets or a donut. I dismiss the non-existent thoughts that, just moments ago, were causing my theatrical anxiety as I grab four quarters to feed the machine with.
*This is based on a true story, some names and situations have been changed/altered/enhanced with creative license or whatnot.
I met Steve at the Irving gas station, just standing there smoking a butt beneath his fading green hat in the mid April drizzle, an Adam's Tree Service truck just behind and the air pump in front.
My tires thrive on air pumps and I feed them through Sunoco's at least once a week because old rubber on a rusty, fading car gets hungry fast.
Today, my favorite pump was blocked by road work and the people that come with it. I grudgingly crawled along the torn up, one lane stretch while avoiding the cones that cut me off from my tires' life line, all the while cursing each bump in the road that added insult to my injured tires. And I know that air is cheap anywhere, or at least it is for now. It's just that cheap air that's set off from the world, and all the people that are in it, comes from Sunoco, so they get at least a dollar a week out of me.
Irving, on the other hand, digs deeper into the wallet of this broke college kid: upwards of 20 bucks a week and a rewards member, though I have yet to reap the benefits of the latter. Even still, Irving is my vendor of choice for the fossil fuels. Their cheap gas is the main course for ol' BessyRu because if she dies on my way back to school, she can die knowing that less of my money has been wasted in her hypothetically useless tank. A few months back, I did notice an air pump there but until today, I had dismissed the idea. Irving may have cheap gas but its strategic location is not my favorite: multiple lanes of traffic next to a four way intersection that's right off a highway, and let's not forget all the people that come with that mess.
But one of my front tires is down to 10 and two of the others were grumbling on my way to church this morning so I'm forced to rattle on over to Irving instead of letting the poor things starve. I pull into one of the parking spots next to the Irving air machine, being careful not to hit the guy with the green baseball hat that just ran to his truck with a gas container.
This pump is an island. It's situated between the diesel pumps and the regular pumps, which are book ended on one side by my favorite spot, the one that's furthest away from the other cars and the people that are in them. As I'm digging around for quarters, a couple of these people pull up on the other side of the unfamiliar machine and, rather than make obligatory small talk ending in some socially expected graciousness, I decide to wait it out in the car.
That's when I notice him.
It seemed he had already noticed me, though I'm not sure why. It might have been my unusually small stature that doesn't quite belong on the ground between a tire and an air pump. It might have been that I resembled someone he once knew and cared about. It might have even been my plates, which identify me as being originally from Massachusetts.
Massachusetts.
The great state whose name and troubles have been splattered all over the news since some sick yet pitiable person decided to bring about horrifying explosions and war-like chaos during the marathon that draws multitudes every year. Driving around with Massachusetts plates this week has been like walking around school with a post it on my forehead saying that a relative died: The sorry eyes, the patronizing smiles, the encouraging looks, and knowing what's going on in the minds of the people that go with all of that.
But no matter why he noticed me, there he was. Standing in front of the car, but just a bit off to my right so it wasn't completely awkward. Just for good measure, I stare out the left window while making faces as if I was trying to remember something important. As for what could be so important in the life of a college kid that she can't even step out of her car, which been parked for two minutes at this point, I really couldn't tell you.
This is when I realize that the people next to me are just using the other air machine space as a parking spot, probably so they can go in and get a pack of cigarettes or some lotto tickets or a donut. I dismiss the non-existent thoughts that, just moments ago, were causing my theatrical anxiety as I grab four quarters to feed the machine with.
*This is based on a true story, some names and situations have been changed/altered/enhanced with creative license or whatnot.
Monday, April 1, 2013
we are the lonely people
we are the lonely people
the one who walks alone
no shoulder there to cry on
no place to call a home.
we are the lonely people
there is nothing you will give
no word of love to soothe our soul
no friendship that will live.
we are the lonely people
our face will lie to you
no shining eye holds happiness
no smile tells the truth.
we are the lonely people
our fear keeps us apart
no hatred can come forth from us
no love can fill our heart.
D.B.
3/18-19/2010
the one who walks alone
no shoulder there to cry on
no place to call a home.
we are the lonely people
there is nothing you will give
no word of love to soothe our soul
no friendship that will live.
we are the lonely people
our face will lie to you
no shining eye holds happiness
no smile tells the truth.
we are the lonely people
our fear keeps us apart
no hatred can come forth from us
no love can fill our heart.
D.B.
3/18-19/2010
Sunday, September 9, 2012
[silence]
i would do better
alone in this world
with no one to speak to me
just leave me alone!
i just want some peace
can't you see in my eyes?
i despise human speech,
it just takes too much time.
i don't care if you sit there
and just shut your mouth,
you can be in my presence
but you need to learn how!
it shouldn't be hard
to be silent for hours
but from my experience
no on else has this power.
i just want to go
somewhere secluded
where no one else knows
and everything's muted,
no voice but my own
and a peace never ruined.
-D.B.
4/25/2012
alone in this world
with no one to speak to me
just leave me alone!
i just want some peace
can't you see in my eyes?
i despise human speech,
it just takes too much time.
i don't care if you sit there
and just shut your mouth,
you can be in my presence
but you need to learn how!
it shouldn't be hard
to be silent for hours
but from my experience
no on else has this power.
i just want to go
somewhere secluded
where no one else knows
and everything's muted,
no voice but my own
and a peace never ruined.
-D.B.
4/25/2012
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