Placenta

I stand withdrawn from the crowd.
You glance over, but continue your charade.
So polite.
I shrink back, forgotten, so many words in my head--
bubbling, bursting to break free from the cage.
You laugh (giggle) and compliment through smiles.
I barely know who I am.
Reality the stark thin thread, sharp and fragile.
Do you know the answer to You?
I stand withdrawn from the crowd--
waiting for you to approach the unapproachable.
My fault my fault. I know.
How can I learn that of which I don't know?
That of which I'm afraid?
How do children learn of Nazis?
Sugarplums to Neutron bombs.
Each in its own time, right?

They really love you. All of them.
Here I sitstandslouch away from it all.
This is why it's not me.
There you laugh, hug, quip.
This is why it's you.
Why it's always been you.
You of the emotion-eyes.
You of the wit.
You of the capability to laugh.
You of the talking with people.
All so natural?
So very foreign.

That is why I planned to cross the road.
I am unnecessary. The world moves.
Yet here I am typing, stagnant.
You are enough world for anyone.
They don't need me.
They'll never want me.
I am the Placenta of our culture--
only the 'weird' ones will eat me.
You CAN teach an old dog new tricks.
But what of the Young Person?
What of her?