by Richard Vince

Grace and timing are all it takes,
As if anything that matters is
Ever that simple.

My thumb hurts where I have
Used it to hold a pen far too
Infrequently of late, as though
My right hand has aged as
The youthful flow of words has
All but dried up.

And yet, suddenly, I am young again:
Avoiding sleep in the small hours in
The house I grew up in, writing lines
And lines of nonsense, and
Feeling like an outsider.

Perhaps that is what it has
Always been about; perhaps that is
Why I have always struggled to
Accept that I did things
The way I did.

It always seemed so easy
For everyone else: they made friends
Without really trying, and
They were able to talk to people
While I was left dumbfounded
And trying not to stare.

They had grace and timing, but
My movements were always
Awkward and stilted. There is
A great dance of which
I am not part.


Posted on 01/07/2014
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/08/14 at 09:38 PM

I really relate to this poem. Boy do I ever! Empathetic through and through.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/11/14 at 01:17 PM

wonderfully expressed, Richard. it seems a poet's condition, to be socially awkward and outsider, and fluent only as his ink and introspection is concerned.

Return to the Previous Page

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2022 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)