Drizzle coated everything in soft spray.
Beneath tall lamps, pavements shone.
Lit by amber reflections.
Removing his wet glasses changed the view to an impressionistic haze.
Which seemed more comforting than stark reality.
Pocketing his spectacles, he carried on without them.
The area was quiet.
Occasionally a bush would rake its branch tips over his jacket, if he came too close.
He thought about those already in bed, at this hour. Behind thousands of facades across the town.
Unknown minds, many possessed by dreams.
While he wandered around, unseen.
A restless, forlorn, spirit.
But, later, nearing the corner to his own street, excited chatter, laughter, and screams, revealed a cluster of young girls, hidden in shadows.
Amid large, overgrown hedges.
He crossed the road, rather than intrude upon their space.
“Look: there goes that queer!” Shouted a female voice.
“Yeah, that’s him,” came the response, “I hates him!”
“Hey you! She’s talkin’ to you!” Called another.
“Loony!”
He kept walking.
What could be done?
This was the life he knew.
Friendless. Depressed. Abused. Alone.
Some unexplained stigma appeared to mark him a reject.
The 22-year-old virgin, who’d never been on a date.
Each new humiliation scratched an unhealed wound.
Feeling mired in shame, he fumbled for door keys.
The dark hallway retained a reassuring warmth.
Wearily he climbed, up creaking stairs, toward his room.
His cell?
His retreat.
(1978)
( Hi guys!
It’s deeply disappointing to me, after having failed to find love, how
easily haters are attracted.
Even now, though old and ill, I still draw hate.
Often without knowing why.
Starting blogging, I dreamed of becoming popular. For the first time…
Oh well.
Two years later, getting a single comment remains the highlight of my week.
Maybe you could leave one, and cheer me up?
LOL!
(No pressure!)
Thank you for reading.)
(PS: Not so much morphing to poetry, from the prose, in this post.)
( anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / fiction / life / loneliness / mental health / poetry / photography / thoughts / writing )
Ken Hallett Blog 
I can relate. They used to literally throw food at me in high school, but I never bowed down, I never stopped dressing “differently”, who would want to be like everyone else??
LikeLiked by 2 people
oh my goodness, this is absolutely horrible……..I just can’t understand what and the hell is wrong with people!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you. Tiffany!
I didn’t conform, either.
But would prefer being emotionally tougher.
For me loneliness was quite painful. Including the physical sense ( touch deprivation).
More forced, than chosen.
Since life has often appeared like a party to which I wasn’t invited,
I remain curious about love, friendship, acceptance, and belonging.
LikeLike
Is this a photo of you?
I am going to assume that this poem stems from some sort of past truth. I just can’t understand how absolutely cruel humans can be to another.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s me with my guitar, Wendi!
And this piece is a true story.
I have been hated, bullied and rejected, as long as I can remember.
Driven from each home by harassment/noise nuisance.
Attempting to reason with people rarely worked.
“Every day I pray that you’ll die!” said one neighbour, slamming the door in my face.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am so very sorry that you have had to endure so much through your life……….
LikeLiked by 1 person