At an art opening

I don't know anyone. I can't pretend to be friends I'd family of a single soul here, but no matter what I do

I feel I just don't belong.

I'm used to the penetrative stares that look through me as if to tell me I am not one of the group, one of the herd.

I get them here too. Me with my brown jacket, red shirt, yellow headphones, and old grey hat, I still get the glances to a stranger. A no-one. Anon.

It's not just my lingering depression- trigger happy but never willing to say why or what for – but rather the attitudes people convey in their eyes.

Lady with a tired face in the long brown coat: you don't think I belong.
Teenage boy in the technicolour trip-hop towel: you don't think I belong either.
Brown haired lady five years my senior – l what is it, is it my attire or my face: you know I don't belong.

And so I stand here in the cold. Unable to understand, confused as to why, for no matter how much I try to fit in not a single person will let me.

An artist at an art opening and I can't relate to a solitary soul.

Submit a CommentPlease be polite. We appreciate that.

Your Comment