i am too hollow,
i am too boring,
i never know what to say,
and when i do speak, it comes off
as too desperate.
i am too sad,
i an too pessimistic,
and when i cry the fire infiltrating
my cheeks
is too hot.
i am too awkward,
i am too gawky,
and when i walk, i trip, and when i speak,
it takes too long for me to spit the syllables out.
i am too soft,
i am too faint,
i am a flute, and everyone around me
is a trumpet blaring vigorously, proudly,
and wondering with an ignorant innocence,
why they cannot hear me.