Wednesday, January 16, 2013


My fear of people exhausts me.
My muscles ache from holding them clenched so tightly;
always bracing for the sudden impact of
Someone else’s interest in me.

(Who hit you? My therapist once asked.
No one, I said. But if I hold myself like this
There will be less of me for them to judge.)

I consistently avoid eye contact.
Because  if I look at someone directly,
They’ll climb inside me and inspect my inner parts,
Poking and prodding where I feel it the most.

Can you see where I’m going with this?
All human contact is raw and ardent
And most of all, physical.
So I never feel like I’m wearing enough clothes.

My fear of people exhausts me.
I’m tired of the muscle aches,
The lowered eyes, the cold.
No one actually wants to hurt me.

If they're anything like me
They just want to climb through my eyes
To find something of themselves
Some sort of reflection, some validation

That they'll be remembered somewhere.
If they're anything like me (and they are!)
They're looking inside someone else
Just to be reassured they're still alive.