It’s snowing in the Shaw’s parking lot:
I’ve heard all about feeling lonely in a crowded room, but no one romanticizes the feeling of suffocation that creeps up my throat when I’m alone..
my brain is full of chatty monsters.
I give myself social anxiety.
My expectations,
my perceptions,
and my reality
do not get along.
then there’s 35 thousand doors to open & 35 thousand future moniques chatting away just beyond them — wait, not chatting.
They are screaming.
they’re hungry and annoyed; one says.
“if you don’t open this beautiful fucking door soon it locks forever and I’ll be stuck in here. I’ll die of starvation. I’ll wither away.”
Another says: “I am worthy of your effort”
My reality yells back:
“shut up Monique, you’re so dramatic.”
I can’t wait to go out in a big crowded city.
I miss “lonely” now;
I used to miss “play.”
Art & poetry by me.
Xx Monique