car trouble

a little ode to social anxiety. might need a little more fleshing out. any suggestions will probably bring harmony to the middle east and statehood to dc.

Tell her car trouble.
it's believable;
she won't take it the wrong way.

Tell her car trouble.
it's easy,
won't hurt her feelings.

Don't tell her
how you circled the place
where the party was,
planned to park and go in,
but then you thought about talking,
about people,
being talked to
and not being talked to,
the lack of faith
that you could even make words,
time them right,
or keep up,
and you kept on driving.

And it doesn't make sense.
'cause you love her,
love all of them,
but when you pulled up to the place
you weren't breathing.

Tell her car trouble.
Or
tell her about the other times--
all of them--
the happy hours at the bars
you said you couldn't find
while really you were traveling the city alone,
'cause it quelled hte pain in your stomach
when you contemplated
another evening of maintenance,
the performance of being
funny and loud and entertaining and just like them
'Cause maybe you can't
'Cause maybe you aren't.

Or go further back
to the high school parties
you claimed you couldn't get a ride to
so you didn't have to stand
in another basement corner
digging one foot into the other
'cause it's more comfortable
than standing with no one to talk to.

Or further still
to when you were an eight year with chest pains
at the thought of the school cafeteria.
Tell her how sometimes
that's still who you are.

Tell her all of this,
tell her the awkwardness you mask with cleverness,
tell her how you plan an excuse for escape
every half hour
tell her,
tell her,
tell her, "Yeah, it wouldn't even turn over,
problems with the starter.
I got a new one the next day--
my friend installed it."

Because it doesn't make sense.
And you don't know her well enough
for the truth
so tell her car trouble
and pray
that next time
you'll go
so you won't have to tell her
anything at all.