Been ruminating as only I can on a days-ago instance of someone trying to squeeze me into friendship and the resulting struggle to make myself understood. Longish but feel a release, so that’s good. 🙂
I know you imagine me lonely,
Reclusive housewife and mother,
Seemingly tucked into her nest,
In this know-everybody-and-their-cousin,
Spread-your-arms-wide, but watch-your-back place.
A non-engaged little freak of the fringes
In this socially-saturated, raise-a-toast- to-shallowness world.
You presume I am desperate to
“Fix” it, I guess.
To “fix” me.
You see me on the proverbial outside
With nose pressed
Longingly against the glass,
Shy but oh-so-hungry to be
Partaking of the table of
And, yes, I will grant you times and
Even full seasons
I am filled with frustration for who I am
As well as who I am not.
There are days of wrestling
Just to walk these country streets,
Knowing the “shoulds” of greeting others
But not always possessing of the audible tongue.
There are nights propelled solely by
Anxiety and sheer endurance,
My mixing in the fray of the
Only for the sake of
Those closest to my heart.
That, in fact, is where you found me,
Out only for the sake of
Surviving a conversation because it
Was presented to me,
Congratulating myself inside for not
Too many lulls.
Seeking something more never once
Sprung to mind
Till you inserted yourself.
Hang outs and girl talk?
Slicked-up nails and gossipy coffee outings?
Never had the desire.
Even further intellectual stimulation,
Where very pleasant on certain terms,
Does not often sway me from my
I have my people I can permit in
And I am finding that is enough for me.
It isn’t a lack of care for my
Fellow man, mind you.
That I feel intensely.
Rather, it is a constant need to
Conserve the limited currents of
My people energy.
It’s just not in me to be
What you think I am supposed to be.
I can only operate as He made me.
But, yes, I grant you the ache that
Waxes and wanes,
Though your emphasis is misplaced.
For, this ache comes not of
Pining to be as you
As you suppose.
It is rather the burden of being
For, try as I might to explain myself,
So few accept me just as I am.
If I feel any pain, it is the pain of
A superimposed obligation
I can never reach,
No matter the preaching inflicted on me.
As many before you ( and likely many to come)
Thought your aim was compassion.
I cannot entirely fault you, any of you.
Yes, this I must put into action…
Please, friend…let that kind but misguided arrow
Root itself not in what befits you,
But, instead, give a willing ear to
Letting me be happy being me
Will go so much farther,
Be of infintely more help than
Matchmaking and make-overs
Let me be.
Let me feel the joy of being