Wallflower in the Spotlight: A Poem of Nervousness and Affection

The perks of being a wallflower, or the disadvantages in some cases.
Mr. Observant, half perfectionist, getting a taste of his own medicinal value, describes me to myself in a vacuum.
Tell me how many times I scratch my chin, touch my ribcage, leave you feeling incomplete.
When you feel me getting nervous around you, I cross my arms defensively.
Straighten up my posture and… And tell you you’re wrong.
Or break down and cry. I’m… difficult. An impressionist, copies people to the point where it’s comedic.
I wouldn’t say I’m an impressionist. It’s not funny.
Deflecting points of interest because I’m upset with how my intelligence handles situations.
And I’ve rattled enough cages to know, the focus of people’s pain comes from the same place that mine does.
Conflict of interest. Consciously thinking how to forget. I heard you like puzzles. When my eyes water, my vision breaks apart like a kaleidoscope. Do or die. Get close to me. Don’t whisper, or the tripmines will hear you. Kaleidoscope. I’m so fascinated with it. The way it breaks apart your vision, and makes you see different things. Sort of the way
That You do.
I’m a witness to my memoir.
Self-aware, debonair deathstar.
Get away. N bomb. I feel your pain.
Embark on this journey to my self-sustained benchmark.
Gaze at you from a vantage point, you barely knew I had an angle to do so.
Saxophone tenor, ballad with loopholes, Italian Caruso.
Some call it voyeuristic, it’s opportunity presenting itself.
Shy guy chronicle meets the walking contradiction for help.
Don’t decimate my only distinction.
I barely hold myself together.
Captain to starboard, I want more than affection.
Sometimes the grip of your neck gives me… can’t describe it.