by Richard Vince

Everyone dances to music
I would rather forget;
I sit down on principle.

It’s like I’m missing a gene
That they all have. I lack
An ability to enjoy those
Memories that are so fond
For them.

She looks fine to me,
Yet the hairbrush comes out
To make sure she looks
Good to herself. She is
Her own harshest critic,
Sitting in the corner
Wishing she was different.
Perhaps I am doing the same.

As much as I wish otherwise,
I am designed to be
Miserable in nightclubs,
Constantly in search of
A hiding place from
All I cannot be.

Perhaps she is the same,
Only she makes more
Of an effort to sedate herself
And take on another form.
I don’t know whether to
Wish I could do the same.


Posted on 08/05/2008
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 08/05/08 at 09:08 PM

Interesting observations...

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