Posts Tagged ‘Nervous’

Many people

try to be “cool”

by acting aloof when

their hearts flutter,

and they cannot utter

what they want, for then

a wall is broken, and they’ll feel

foolish. But that’s just as well-

even more so, because the one

they wished to tell now knows.

Advertisements

Conversation is not my strong suit.

In fact, most people know me as being mute,

or simply quiet.

So finding the right words to say

to you is difficult. Each day,

I won’t deny it,

I want to say “hello”, and so much more.

But before I can, you close the door.

Do the worries cease?

Worries that I’ll say something wrong,

or that before I articulate you’ll be long

gone. Out like a breeze.

So, this is how you make my heart go-

a nonstop drum. Knots in my stomach

and blood rising to color my face.

At times it seemed like we were

the only people in the room,

and I smiled.

I smiled at the little things you did,

whether you noticed them or not;

I smiled out of nerves

because you were so calm, and I was not;

I smiled like a fool

because we talked, and you listened.

This is a new experience for me-

not the bundle of nerves under my ribs,

to which you give an electric shock;

not the reddening of my face,

but the happiness from something so simple

and how I don’t mind these feelings

and I surprise myself

by how much I want them to stay.

It’s strange to think

about what connections we have forged,

conversations forming details like pearls-

your personality, my personality-

and yet our faces and our bodies are 

only vague memories,

more than shadows but

less than silhouettes.

I speak to you

and you rekindle an old

schoolboy joy, a feathery giddiness

in me.

It’s a strange thing…

perhaps when we meet the old bird

will finally settle down and hum, content,

in my chest. Or else

a glimmer of recognition

will set its plumage ablaze,

my flesh will burn dark pink,

my breath will come in smoke;

then you’ll turn away in fear,

or douse me to pale, regular color,

and extinguish the terror of the bird 

with the waters of your eyes. 

We let the once overflowed well run dry.

But now, I’ve opened up a brown parcel,

opened the door of the cage and loosed birds,

anxiously pried open a slimy clam,

opened a gray can without a label.