Hi. My name is. It's nice to meet you. Insert uncomfortable smile.

Awkard eye contact. Nervous stutters like I'm on trial. 

The continuingly interrupting silence makes my brain go into overdrive. 

As it continues, I contemplate life, lunch, and why I'm alive. 

Walk away afflicted, wishing it had never happened and wondering why I bother. 

It's my life; I'm the author.

Only when I'm at home and nothing but familar eyes 

Do I let out the girl who was hiding in society's disguise. 

Comfy in pajamas

She likes to yell out at people in her dramas.

There's no "close your mouth when you chew".

No end to the random babbles or silly rants she spews.

No ban on sweatpants

Or being reprimanded for breaking into frivoulous dance.

No apologizing for being comfortable.

No need to hide being vulnerable. 

It's nice. 

But not a worthy conversation piece.

It's safe.

But must be hidden and abandoned like the looked down upon waif.

It's the person that makes me stand out.

The person that the world would look on with flout. 

She's there. 

But scared.