A part of me wants to go, have a good time.
Yet I sit at home empty, avoiding the light.
I know im different, strange and damaged.
Distant and shy, prisoner to what I imagine.
I want to be me, but in someone else.
Chained to the fear of rejection and guilt.
I want to be cool, have fun and go out.
Instead I write, because im shadowed by doubt.
Im not antisocial or think im above.
I just don't feel worthy of fun and love.
So I've learned to be a reclusive extrovert.
Please help me find me in this hell of hurt.


© Timothy Seigler