Best Shyness Poems
I'm young with no identity,
A faceless boy, alone and shy.
To classmates, a nonentity;
My parents fret and wonder why.
I'm part of the unnoticed pack.
I step aside as others pass.
To be alone, I sit in back
And never volunteer in class.
I cannot dance or speak on stage
And hate to pose for photographs.
From social scenes I disengage
Avoiding bullies' taunts and laughs.
Uncaring, they my spirit crush.
At lunch I have no company.
I shrink from hugs and tend to blush
And dirty jokes embarrass me.
I dread the days we swim at school
And shower with the other boys.
I try, but nothing 'bout me's cool.
I lack both confidence and poise.
I'm frightened by the internet
Where vicious rumors often spread.
There mockery's a constant threat
While thoughts of vengeance fill my head.
The girls and jocks just walk on by.
They're unaware that I exist.
No welcome waves or friendly "Hi."
I'm seventeen and not been kissed.
The popular comprise a clique
Where bolder boys have fun and flirt.
Among my peers, I'm seen as weak,
And girls avoid an introvert.
The meek inherit all the earth.
That's what the Bible verse asserts.
But while alive, we've little worth.
We're targets for disdain and hurts.
Tomorrow's graduation day.
This high school torment will have passed.
When college life gets under way,
I hope for friends and peace at last.
The moon’s cheeks above
turned red like a pretty rose.
The star winked at her.
The night is softly speaking to my heart,
and calling me to listen to her plea;
go out and search the world for Cupid’s dart,
and find a lover who will set you free.
A gentle breeze is blowing in my mind
as scent of jasmine hanging in the air;
it’s telling me that I should go and find
the lovely lady of my dreams, so fair.
And still I sit alone within my room
surrounded by these walls built ‘round my soul;
protecting lonely spirit in its womb
from unknown urges seeking to control.
Alas, my demons, won’t you set me free;
remove these chains forever binding me.
August 23, 2018
I hate most people
I'm not antisocial though
But they bring drama
Make no mistake friend
Some people i do adore
Some i would die for
Don't worry stranger
I'm actually friendly
If we had to meet
I'm just very shy
But I'm not antisocial
Maybe we should speak
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |
shyness
handsome and so fine
gorgeous and body sublime
inhabits one
|____|________|_____|____|
PENNED ON JULY 31, 2014!
she runs down the hall
she is meSsY
she is LouD
she is an extrovert
no, she is not
just because she is not shy
does not mean she sometimes wants to cry
being sad and feeling low has crossed her path but I bet you didn't know
stop
stop degrading people based on what YOU see
stop guessing my emotional IQ
because there is more than what meets the eye
because sometimes I want to cry
even though I am not shy.
time in time on time
second by second over high noon
our spring to spring of moon
It reveals itself freely without rationale,
a natural inheritance, untraditional.
Shown to strangers, yet hidden from friends.
Revealed in dangers, concealed in amends.
The softer the approach, the easier it leaves,
but when given reproach, it's worn on the sleeves.
There is no fear to show this to most,
but it's withheld from those who are close.
Your choice dark or light
Never shy from a mental fight
Chess is my delight
By Robb A. Kopp
Talking to new people has always been a nightmare
Some people can talk and make new friends easy
To me it’s as scary as a grizzly bear
My face gets red and my stomach gets queasy
It has always been frustrating and disappointing to me
When i finally think “I’m going to talk today”
But when the time comes I get nervous and freeze
I get upset and just think I’ll just try again another day
I would have more friends and fun in my life
If I didn’t have to be so shy
life was the grains of hope
that slipped through my fingers,
the chilling breath that scurried
around my afflicted mind.
I heard your whispers
through the telephone wires,
felt your coldness
through a pretentious world.
No sister, nor brother
to confide in,
not that anyone cared,
lonely days, lonely nights
where to drift through the burden
of one’s mind to that visionary
place, there, where one casts aside
reality and takes on an entity,
a power with the ability to right
all that is wrong, a sanctuary
that maroons the real world in
rampant arrogance, and it’s
populous totally ignorant
of what goes on,
in the heart of a lonely soul!
© Harry J Horsman 2000
When you closed your hand about my hand,
A shivering bud that hid within my heart
Began to open,
‘MEN do not have FLOWERS in their hearts!’
I cried, in my mind,
‘CERTAINLY
MEN have LIONS!’
But the bud so softly nudged against my breast,
That I could not but pluck its opening grace
And offer it
To You,
Pure As A Smile…
Written On: 1/9/2019
Submitted for Contest:
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Slowly
Slowly but steadily
Shyness is wearing out as
Fakery starts to stir
When Love forgets, for once, to pass me by,
And bats her lashes, smiles, and slows her walk,
Then, I’m a baby chick, that wants to fly...
Oft, Fortune, not forgetful, makes me ply
My patience, when I’d rather jump in... talk...
When Love forgets, for once, to pass me by...
I weigh desire against the value of pi,
This calculus: I run against the flock!
Then, I’m a baby chick, that wants to fly...
I have no manly grace to guide the eye,
I’m graceful as a teenager! I gawk!
When Love forgets, for once, to pass me by!
I cannot tell, at all, when Love is nigh!
Unless She spells it out for me, in chalk!
Then, I’m a baby chick, that wants to fly...
Then, I meet you, Sun smile against the sky,
And all within that Bumbles, fails to balk!
When Love forgets, for once, to pass me by,
Then, I’m a baby chick, that wants to fly.
Date Written: 1/17/2019