The Group

There they sat,
like ghosts of the past,
in their clique.
Then there am I,
face burning, ready to cry,
and feeling wholly sick.

There I am sat.
Anxiety strangling me,
and awkwardness restricting my movement.
All I can think;
Why am I like this?
Why am I feeling like this?
Why did I come?
Why don’t I leave?
Why haven’t I left?
Why are they ignoring me?
As these thoughts rush through my mind,
the room around me suddenly reminds me
of a room I’ve seen before.
Them. Laughing and joking together.
Me. Dying of crippling humiliation
I forewarned of this situation.
He promised it would be different.
Clearly they were empty promises,
for he is nowhere to be seen to rescue me
from this excruciating Hell.
This is not a group.
This is an insufferable collection
of cold, self-centred simpletons;
a twisted assembly of ignorant, heartless
and nauseating subjects.
I am not welcome here,
nor do I want to be here.
Their voices become distant whispers
as I slowly drift towards my own world.
My world of warmth, familiarity and safety.
I jumped from the boat and plunged in with both feet.
I offered myself as fresh, frightened meat.
I quickly discovered, though, that I couldn’t swim,
so hurriedly headed for the shore.
Never again to leave the boat,
I will swim no more.

by Dan Brown

Other poems of BROWN (351)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.