Introvert
I feel cooped up with silly string in my hair.
I think introverts are an astral projection.
Winter is a balled up stocking.
Even with silly string strung up in me.
I take a crack at the astral plane under my bed.
I feel slobbered on when I order pizza for myself.
I feel cooped up with a few of these friends.
Attached like a bottle cap.
Popped it off and poured that old “how are you?” out onto the floor.
Being an introvert and my mind is unsound.
It’s like the mattress tag says something crazy but no one would read it anyway.
I talk with my left tooth splayed out.
I think introverts are an astral projection of extroverts.
We are only real because we are each other’s carpet fibers in the same crime scene.
Or maybe I’m just some awkward friend who dropped the last chicken wing and you hated me forever.
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