My Happy Place

Sometimes, I'm so awkward.

I wish to speak in sonnets,

And instead I stutter

A collection of um, like, agh.

I try to smooth talk

But I sound more like

A clumsy dancer

Tripping over her own phrases,

Stuttering on her own two feet.

My mouth moves

At a pace I can't control

Which is odd,

Because I can only take things slow.

Slow, like the trail of slime

Excreted from the snail's shell.

Slow, like the movement of your grandma,

Who could once travel so freely.

Slow, like the turn of pages

Of a bored child

With their textbook.

I am a textbook.

I'm dull and unwanted,

Full of dictionary words

That I've memorized to seem sophisticated,

Random facts to throw into conversation

When the silence becomes deafening.

The silence breaks the barrier,

Beats down on my eardrums,

Pounds in my chest,

Protruding with each breath

As though trying to escape.

I presume everyone wants to escape me.

I'm awkward.

I'm a baby's first step,

I'm the freshman boy's first kiss.

I'm holding sweat soaked hands

For the first time.

I'm awkward,