That introverts desire a private place

How like a prison is my cubicle.

Yet I feel safe enclosed in this space.

‘Tis often claimed to be indubitable

That introverts desire a private place.

We suffer when with crowds and noise we mix.

We suffer from wild talking and blind eyes.

We suffer from the exrtroverts cruel tricks.

And ponder long on wherefores and on why’s,

Life can be so painful we retreat

We jail ourselves to gain some mental peace

Yet all the world’s our pleasure and it’s sweet.

So can a prisoner gain their own release?

An introvert is like a wild,trapped cat,

Which blindly scratches those on whom it’s spat.

Cubicle

How like a prison is my cublicle

Where I await the medic on his rounds

I bite my nails and chew their cuticles

But take care not to make a single sound

Were I to don this backless gown supplied

And lie uncovered on this small hard bed.

I feel as if someone will think I’ve died.

And like a book I will remain unread.

Alone and naked like a new born child

Or like a suspect in some secret jail.

I must keep hold of thought and temper wild…

No cries,no screams,no not a single wail..

How easily we ‘re plucked from normal rounds

And hurled into a maelstrom with no bounds