Wind Against My Skin

I stand outside,
The wind beating my face.
Walking over the sand,
Watching the boat race.

Sitting in the sand,
The tide closing in.
This had became normal.
I put my knees below my chin.

Wandering alone,
Wondering aloud,
I had started being me,
And was no longer part of the crowd.

They talk too loud,
And talk too much.
They're just not like me,
I know I shouldn't think such.

I'm too picky,
My mother will say.
But I just ignore her,
Day by day.

But I'd rather be out here,
In solitude to think.
So here I am,
Writing it down in ink.

I'd rather be alone,
I really don't mind.
It's not that I'm picky.
It's just my design.

I sit and write
Resting my chin.
I'd rather just sit with
The wind against my skin.