Poem: Passing (Or how an introvert feels at party)

Anyone else here consider themselves an introvert? I'm guessing many, but not all, can identify. Online platforms tend to attract introverts because of the advantages of indirect contact and anonymous communication. But the beauty of Steemit is that is seems to provide a home for all kinds of people who can express themselves through various media.

I am definitely introverted. which means that I sometimes find social situations challenging. In my case I think it comes from being highly empathetic - I feel the emotions that other people are feeling, whether they're good or bad - which results in a yoyo of highs and lows and quickly depletes my energy. I need time alone to recharge my batteries.

That isn't to say that I cannot enjoy socialising, but I much prefer small groups, or even one-on-one situations. Or else, it needs to be an evening with a purpose, like dancing or watching live music, so I have something to focus on other than the people around me.

A glimpse into the mind of an introvert at a party

I wrote this poem last year after a particularly exhausting social evening where I found myself constantly fighting the need to cry (for no other reason than that I felt overwhelmed by all the noise and people around me).

I escaped to the toilet for a few moments' peace, only to find that there was a single toilet and a queue. Nightmare! I couldn't justify spending more than a few minutes alone there. Anyone recognise the scenario?

Anyway, I first published this on my poetry blog, but I'm reposting it here in honour of World Poetry Day.

(Oh and those of you waiting for the next episode of Diary of a Detectress, never fear, it'll be here soon!)

Passing

A practiced sense
perceives the cue

Features align
in pre-agreed patterns
A sure smile with
only a hint
of bared teeth

Gritted support
shores up the dam
sustaining the optical reservoir
of salty impropriety.

The evening builds
nodding and grasping
closing one’s eyes
on the looming flood

But interminable toasts
inflate the pressure
evacuation becomes a necessity.

The unsocialite’s nightmare
Is a single, solitary toilet.
The polite knock comes all too soon.

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This content was written by @Victoria-Kelly. The poem is my own, original work and was first published on my poetry blog in 2017.

Image from Pixabay