The Woes of Being an Introvert

Her flaming red hair cascaded down her back
her teal eyes seemed kind and accepting enough
I was determined to be her friend.

I pictured us gushing over our mutual love for Harry Potter
(the one thing I knew we had in common).
I began the mental countdown.
You’ll talk to her in 10… 9…
I began to think,
8… 7…
taking a step forward.
Her head was turned away from me.
I would tap her on the shoulder,
and introduce myself.
6… 5…
Just another step forward,
I extended my arm
4… 3…
She turned to the girl next to her,
began chatting, and walked off
in the other directin.

I sinking feeling overtook me.
2… 3…
I thought to myself as I brewed in my stew
of self pity
Why didn’t you talk to her earlier?
Why do you have to do that stupid countdown?
Why couldn’t you just act natural
like a normal person?

I self consciously tucked bits of my dark hair
behind my ears.
I turned around to face social, normal people
swarming around me.
My back hunched over
and it was as if my shoulders
were being magnetically pulled together.
My mouth was dry, but
I managed to swallow
my possible friendship down.

Knitting

Yes, I knit.
I cast on,
knit a scarf, hat, blanket,
and cast off.

I learned to knit from
watching my grandma’s deft fingers
making the needles dance.
Weaving patterns into the yarn,
she would make a mistake sometimes-
no problem-
she could turn a gaping hole into a gorgeous design.

My life is being knit.
I am the yarn, being crafted
into something (hopefully) beautiful.
But when I make a mistake,
I can never turn that hole into a design.
I can never go back.

Sometimes I can’t help but ask myself:
who’s holding the needles?

Dandelions

Nobody likes them
because they distract from their
perfectly manicured
unnaturally green lawns.

But I adore them,
I think they’re beautiful.
I can almost hear their bright, fluffy voices
calling out to me.

This dollop of yellow
placed on a stem,
as if Sun himself
tossed pieces of gold
into the whispering grass.

So today,
in honor of this forgotten flower
(“weed”, as they say),
I wear them in my hair,
weave them into the dirty
laces of my shoes,
and throw handfuls of them
into the lake,
watching them drift
down the stream.

Don’t forget
the dandelions.