a poem
Why does being alone,
Feel like a heavy stone,
Dragging me down, down, down…
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Society says speak up,
But my thoughts, they often get stuck,
In this shell I hide, inside.
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Noise and chaos, they surround,
A peaceful haven, I have found,
In the quiet of my mind.
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But why does being me,
Feel like such a mystery,
To the world outside?
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Introvert pain, it’s real,
A constant, never-ending wheel,
Of thoughts, and fears, and doubts.
()
So here I sit, in my space,
In this quiet, lonely place,
Hoping one day, I’ll be found.
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Until then, I’ll be okay,
In this world, where I can play,
With my thoughts, and be just fine.
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Because being introverted,
Is just how my soul’s selected,
And that’s perfectly fine.
()
