Stoned! in the record store
I know I stink I
know they all see it on me
not just the sesh but the
autistic tendencies
the anxiety
the way I overthink the very
space I’m occupying
I know I’m standing here like a
tiny fool
grasping at
being nonchalant
(I’m not)
I know
the air is clear somewhere
& I’m less a sore thumb
& more an arm that is just
slightly too short
or maybe even
a whole person
that just feels
comically present
disconcertingly in place
I know you are not
looking at me as much as
I’m thinking about you looking at me
I just have
eyes all over my body
& they’re red-rimmed
my very prevalence a blinding blush.