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. πŸ™‚

I know you imagine me lonely,

Reclusive housewife and mother,

Seemingly tucked into her nest,

Profound oddity

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,

Looking in,

Shy but oh-so-hungry to be 

Partaking of the table of

Social acceptability.

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 

Rampant awkwardness

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 

Meeting place 

Only for the sake of

Those closest to my heart.

That, in fact, is where you found me,

Out only for the sake of

Precious offspring,

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

Quiet repose.

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 

Among the 

Perpetually misunderstood.

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

An expectation,

A superimposed obligation

I can never reach,

No matter the preaching inflicted on me.

And, you,

As many before you ( and likely many to come)

Thought your aim was compassion.

I cannot entirely fault you, any of you.

But, enlighten? 

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

 My truth-

Letting me be happy being me

Will go so much farther,

Be of infintely more help than

Matchmaking and make-overs 

For “friendship”

Ever could.

Let me be.

Let me feel the joy of being