Buzzing, a poem by me

My skin is buzzing

Sitting alone, at the dinner table

On a Monday afternoon

And I feel daunted,

But as though I can

Possibly

Take on the world.

If the world,

Really the world, is what I get

None of this fake 

Impersonal stuff 

Everyone seems to care

So much about, but

Something real. 

Like clouds, and cats, and trees, and bees,

And kindness.

But with music buzzing in my ear

I'm unable to move forward

Or do anything at all.

I am not ready

To take on much at all.

I am just a someone,

Who's sitting alone at a table 

Who's got too much buzzing,

Who's got too much going on inside her head.

"Buzzing"