Wallflower
I remember when I was young,
the wallflower I used to be.
I would sit and watch
others gaze into each other’s eyes,
seeing the passion burning there.
All the time I was thinking,
will this ever happen to me?
Many times, I tried to excerpt myself,
and for my effort
received questioning stares.
Who is this weirdo?
Where did he come from?
It was a frustrating time, for this wallflower,
who on the shelf would remain.
I had no chat up lines,
only a pen and pad,
everyone who looked at me,
must have thought that I was mad.
I’d go to a party on the odd occasion I was invited,
sit in the corner on my own.
No one would talk to the odd man out.
Therefore, I would leave,
just the way I had come,
no one on my arm,
for that lonely trek home.
All the time I wondered,
is this the way my life is going to be.
A wallflower on a lonely shelf.
Shyness is an awful thing,
and it is very lonely.
For friends seem so very few.
I found out much later.
That I just had to let myself go.
Much to my surprise in doing it.
I was no longer a wallflower on a lonely shelf.
poem by David Harris
Added by Poetry Lover
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