Maybe I’m not like them. Because I’m like me.
I’ve spent my entire life feeling weird. Uncomfortable.
I don’t enjoy debates. I don’t like gossiping.
I don’t want to discuss personal details. Ever.
I feel out of place. Like I’m watching myself from above.
Because I’m private. I’m a private person.
I don’t like the way that your cold crowbar
Feels against my closed door.
You shouldn’t try to pry open my past
and plow through my most painful memories.
They’re not yours. They’re mine. And I don’t want to share.
I don’t want to use my failures and successes
as conversational pieces for people who don’t even know me.
You don’t have the right to expect anything from me.
I’m here. Listening, if you want to talk.
But I won’t blurt out my deepest secrets just to join in the conversation.
You don’t get to see the blueprint of my mind, body and soul.
You enjoy the scandal, giggles and ultimate bonding. I don’t.
I see the pain behind your mistakes that you are so casually laughing off.
I can feel the tears that burned your skin as they dripped off your face.
I can taste the blood in your mouth from clenching your teeth for too long.
You may be comfortable. Happy, even.
To discuss your most frightening moments.
To smile in the face of your own past.
But I can’t take things with a grain of salt.
And I won’t minimize my memories and pain
For the sake of fitting in
For the afternoon.