This poem is from "The Dim Light" collection and deals with a subject I've had since I can remember. It's classified as a "distress or uneasiness of the mind"...anxiety or more specifically for me social anxiety. I hope you enjoy and Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
Scattered amongst the broken variants
is a vessel, of a man, in a shell.
Echoing weepy words worded and heard;
you know there’s a hell, this is where you’ll dwell.
He won’t leave, but doesn’t want to be left,
dampened sagas and glimpses implicate.
The forum on his demeanor is lithe
and just fragile enough to indicate.
Watch for the marquee matinee unfold
in the backdrop of ill equipped tidbits.
It will not grow old, so let it be told,
he feels at ease in the land of misfits.
In close quarters without neutral borders
frolics a man with a begotten soul.
With urgent excerpts of hurt to exert
he knew it was best to live in a hole.
Clasping together a will and a way
he composed a vow to seek assistance.
Enshrined was the fear of a new frontier,
but he desired to have an existence.