Sometimes I like to go,

Into my hiding place.

Not under a table or in a closet.

Just inside myself.

Retreating from the conversation.

Retreating from society.

Just hiding in plain sight.

A chameleon in clothes.

It’s overwhelming.

The noise.

The thinking.

The charade.

I don’t want to be here.

So onwards I go.

Burrowing to safety.

“Are you even listening?” they ask.

At school.

At home.

At work.

On dates.

In truth all I do is listen.

The wallflower.

If you never learn when your lips are moving,

Then I must know a lot.