"“Shrinking in a corner,
pressed into the wall;
do they know I'm present,
am I here at all?
Is there a written rule book,
that tells you how to be—
all the right things to talk about—
that everyone has but me?
Slowly I am withering—
a flowered deprived of sun;
longing to belong to—
somewhere or someone.” "
pressed into the wall;
do they know I'm present,
am I here at all?
Is there a written rule book,
that tells you how to be—
all the right things to talk about—
that everyone has but me?
Slowly I am withering—
a flowered deprived of sun;
longing to belong to—
somewhere or someone.” "
Wallflower
