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!