literature

The Art of Being Shy

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Published: Apr 12, 2014

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Literature Text

I'm shy,
I bury my face in a book,
Hoping it'll be the gateway,
Into another world.

When you look in my eyes,
My gaze dances by,
Afraid to reveal,
The heart of my soul.

You're puzzled by my silence,
You don't understand it,
But we both know,
That there's more to my silence.

I'm the one they call shy,
A person of few words,
And even fewer friends,
Observing life differently

A three letter word,
Too short a description,
To explain what goes on,
Within my head.

Alone is a welcome state,
Silence my best friend,
Literature is my key,
Imagination my soul.

You who aren't shy,
Can't comprehend,
The maze of my mind,
Can't hear my thoughts.

An obscure face,
That's always downcast,
I pass through the crowd,
Dodging attention.

It's not that I don't like it,
Having attention,
I just can't bear not being heard,
Or being misunderstood,
Which you so often do.

Timid voice,
Raised in eager revelation,
But you never hear,
As you laugh at a friend's joke.

That's why I'm shy,
My nature by instinct,

It's to hide,
From people like you.

People who don't understand,
The gift of being shy.

You reach to touch,
To grasp something tangible,
But I'm unsubstantial,
Like the wind.

If you can't understand me,
Then you can never hold me,
For I'm of the imagination,
A realm of my own.

Come, try to define me,
To meet me on my terms,
But you won't succeed,
For you don't know me.

I'm called shy,
It's a label that's mine,
But that's not the half of me,
It's just the facade.

Passing beyond your gaze,
I slip away,
From your memory,
From your mind.

For that's the art,
Of being shy.