Ask Me the Question

I don’t understand why you ask me the question.

Other than it is social protocol that you do

Because we both know that you don’t care about the answer;

And I don’t care about giving you a response.

You don’t look me in the eyes when you ask,

But stare beyond me to a space far more interesting than myself.

I wish to glance fully at your face,

Afraid of what I might see.

Instead, I keep staring at the frown line at the side of your mouth.

So miserably static in my own shyness

I tell myself it’s alright to keep my eyes down.

But, you’ve asked me the question,

And despite my understanding and loathing of social decorum

I find my mouth opening without prompting.

Maybe it’s because I want me to like you.

A desire so strong it burns away any intelligent words I could use from my lexicon.

My mouth, still open, hangs in the air

And I am more awkward than usual, but the deep breath in, and a push of courage allows me to ask you the question.

How are you doing?

This was my first attempt at writing a poem just off the cuff. I generally don’t write poetry because a) I’m pretty sure I suck at it, and b) it has the ability to make my brain explode. Anyhow, any constructive criticism would be great. I might make this my Wednesday post if there is a good response. Happy reading!