A newsletter from Jacquelyn Strickland |
March 2004 Vol. 1 Issue 1
A Highly Sensitive Poem
by Charles Gulotta
Here's a poem inspired by the Fall 2003 New England East
I'm the one climbing the stairs,
While nine hundred people come down.
The current is swift, relentless, and strong,
I'm doing my best not to drown.
Groups get together for parties and fun,
They head for their favorite bar.
But the wilder things get, the more I retreat.
I'd rather wait in the car.
The world is too busy, too noisy, too fast,
Too inconsiderate and loud.
I'd rather be alone in a room by myself,
Than feel lonely on the edge of a crowd.
It isn't that I dislike conversation.
I'm not shy, as others will claim.
I'd just rather stay quiet and say nothing at all,
Than talk and do exactly the same.
Besides, I have a hundred discussions
Before getting out of my bed.
They're hard to fathom, even harder to hear,
Because they take place inside of my head.
Most people enjoy their talk - big and small,
To me it's emotional Judo.
If men are from Mars and women from Venus,
Then maybe I'm from Pluto.
Because here on Earth, you're required to brag,
To boastfully show off your skills.
To strut and to shout and to stomp where you want,
And win the battle of wills.
I have little need for attention and praise,
No idea how to light up the room.
My eyes don't dance, my heart doesn't sing,
And my voice doesn't know how to boom.
I don't get along with the sure and the proud,
And they don't find me appealing.
But I have no time to run with the herd,
I'm too busy thinking and feeling.
Charles' disclaimer: If anyone finds this
poem arrogant, obnoxious, or offensive in any way, that was
not my intent. It simply presents a single slice of my mental
and emotional state on one particular afternoon. I promise
you, within hours I was feeling twinges of regret for having
written it. By the next day, I was racked with guilt.
- Charles Gulotta
Charles invites you to download a copy of his poem from:
or email him at email@example.com