Whenever someone walks into the room,
I quickly hide my notebook from them,
For I know my imagination is hard to explain,
And I’d rather not sit through awkwardness,
//
Then when they ask why I left so soon,
Instead of pride, I hang in shame,
To assure that I am still sane,
I’d rather told them I had a headache to nurse,
//
I scroll down my feed to see what matters,
People show interests that they never say,
They hide and cover from judgement,
For the world sets standards on how we act,
//
This rotten world reap what it festers,
Interests and talents are not for display
So we create subcultures from displacement,
And create promises and hidden pacts,
//
Their leather jackets and spikes come out at night,
Their orientation, only in hushed whispers,
Their scripts only in hidden saved documents,
And their quirks only listed as fetishes,
//
Just like how we can only put up cube lights,
Only on Christmas for decorative purposes,
Just a flash in the pan, a brief moment,
Trapped and hidden beneath safe spaces