I’ve tried my hand at common man,
and before, sat with the sophisticated,
yet repeatedly I find myself in no man’s land,
mute, disconnected, alone and antiquated.
There’s no place for me, between him or her,
no back, nor bosom to find,
otherwise, I’d be shackled, though social, to monotony,
perhaps amongst you, though an imprisoned mind.
So I recluse and find measure in simplicity,
in unsophisticated and lonely ways,
this, I’ve realised is an introverts path,
and I shall live out, humble to my end days.
One thought on “introversion forty eight”
I totally get it. 🙂 Love the poem.
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