The Write Words

Writing poems as the moods go round Captures things never within view before How nobody can tell that I'm spiralling away inside How many times I write down that I need comforting But don't tell anyone The times I send out that message In the real world but it's missed How I note how many times people claim to always be there for me I presume they think there will be a fanfare if I need help My cries for help are imperceivable Inside I'm struggling to breathe, flailing my arms Externally I've just asked if anyone fancies the theatre sometime in the next 3 months or something equally non telling Then crumble and consternate if no one hooks in My friend has asked for weeks should we pre-book seats on the plane We've all said not worth bothering as a short flight and we might get lucky Yesterday she said the same and we responded the same Then she said, I'm nervous sitting on my own on a plane And everyone immediately pre-booked seats together I just can't take that step Because I don't know what my need actually is I could fly round the world alone with no qualms But I'll sit with people who've asked me to be there, consistently for years and fret I'm unlikeable Sometimes they'll tell me about a time they relayed something I'd done to their family And I hear it like a review People I've not met who love me via an intermediary That can only mean my view of myself is the flawed one What am I talking about again? Oh yes, feeling sad unnecessarily and how I do my own head in.