I am misunderstood
It is because my shy demeanor renders me speechless
What I want to say, need to say won’t be heard
At least not the vociferous that I feel that I deserve

I have led myself to believe that what I choose to say is of so much substance
That people just won’t understand the depth of my message
I live alone in my mind, most of the time
The world is faint background noise to my inner monologue

The constant chatter of my conscience, sometimes seems like a untrustworthy narrator
The time files as my cranium has entrapped me for another day

I am immune to the constant passing of time,
Until the ticking clock suddenly speeds up
I am left with introspection and daydreaming.
The lie of eternity.

The procrastination
I am oblivious and aware
The work it take to progress
I am running out of time

By Michael-Michelle P.