Honestly, I didn’t really want
to leave after being seen,
but swathed in cotton paper
thin skin, and absent any
accompanying friend,
I felt powerless to stay,
vulnerable, naked, afraid,
especially without wine’s
numbing, warmly comforting,
sparkling glow of social charm,
the kind I didn’t have to put on,
also the kind there’s no filter on,
not to mention the kind decidedly
done.
So instead, isolating alone,
mocktailing and hiding shyly
behind my phone, anxiety
spiked my mind and laced
my awkwardly constructed
smile when approached
by well-meaning community
blinded to my overwhelming
self-judgment, self-consciously
directing encounters to mirror
me: forced, fearful, and fake.
Social living without libations’
lubricants can sometimes really
chafe.