I Sometimes Mistake Shyness As Fear

The feeling I have right now is similar to that of a pianist that has no hands, or a kettle that has no stout. I can push myself and make things happen but it's too much for my nourished pride and rambunctious ego. I don't know how some people can muster that enough confidence to say what they really want to say and do what they really want to do. They must be from some other planet where the word "permission" or "thank you" doesn't exist.

In my own little coy planet, all people are painfully shy... Painfully shy to look right into a person's eyes, painfully shy to defy the conventional world, painfully shy to gather up the right words, and breath them into life.

In my own little coy planet, people go by the phrase, "to suffer in silence". They hide behind bushes, watch the world spin madly on without them at its center, and daydream of the could-have-beens and the should-have-beens of their little silent lives.

At nights, they burrow their heads into their shy little pillows, and linger on the never-satiated desires. They cry, of course, in the most silent way they can. But inside their heads, their tears loudly chase one after another like rowdy bulls set to kill the person in red.

Their heads are endlessly burrowed into their shy little pillows as the world spin madly on and on and on... without them as the sun.