The Magic Realist

Under The Carpet

Where Secrets Are Swept

Pleasant conversation and congenial discourse
Among others escapes me. I’m low at my game.
Difficult and contentious and sometimes profane
With most others, I seldom have something to gain.
I’m swept Under The Carpet and fettered with shame.
For the things I have said I’m consumed with remorse.

It may be that I rub others quite the wrong way.
I may show my affection yet some would recoil
Thinking I may be threatening. I’m out of line
When I feel I’ve done nothing and everything’s fine.
What is true to my nature can cause much turmoil.
Should I keep to myself and have nothing to say?

Sometimes I’m hypersensitive and I may lack
The required mental discipline for social play.
No one needs to remind me when I am this way
But they do and aggressively to my dismay.
Delicate is my dance somewhat like a ballet.
If I do rather poorly I’m prone to attack.

Reasoning becomes secondary to my peace
Which is clearly ass backwards. So what I must do
To ensure readjustment is to play along
As if I understand things. How could I go wrong?
Where I find myself swept I may find yet a clue
To escape this rut so that my charm may increase.

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