shopping cart blues

fingers tight

on the shopping cart,

i keep my feet steady

to slow my heart.

the grocery store is

now a place of death.

i walk slow,

but nothing can

slow my breath.

i keep my face neutral,

so that no one hears;

my inner screams

only fall on deaf ears.

i talk and talk,

i smile and laugh,

i walk and walk.

the aisles are walls

made of brick and bone;

the tiles on the floor

bleed like cuts.

i can feel eyes

on every inch of skin.

i want to cover up so

no one can see within.

my body is on a stage

every time i go in public.

and i want to hide

in the shadow

of the spotlight.

everyone is my audience,

i'm supposed to

put on a show.

but every time i breathe

my mind screams at me

to go.

go far away

hide back in your hole

don't look at the faces

just look at the products

in the aisle

and your white knuckles

on the shopping cart.

you're in the mexican food aisle

you soothe yourself

with reading name brands

of tortillas.

your fingers unclench

color seeps back into your skin.

but every step feels

like a battle.

and you can rarely win.

suddenly even the tiny signs fade.

your anxiety is now

invisible on the outside.

but inside your thoughts still roll

a speech being read live.

everyone sees into your head

they see your thoughts

and they hate you for it.

you're so self centered,

you're no main character.

why do you see yourself

in the spotlight,

when you're barely even

worthy of a backstage role?

but i don't see myself

as a main character.

i see myself as a backup

shoved into the spotlight

when i don't have any lines

memorized.

i know i'm no main character

but everyone looks at me like

i am one.

and it's not a good feeling.

my white knuckles on

the metal shopping cart

play a song

that only i know.

the shopping cart blues.