A Cloud of Smoke
When you walk into the crowded café
You think that everyone notices you
That their heart rate increases a little
That they feel a small stirring down below
That women want you, men to be you
You always expect that there will be a
Table waiting for you and your partner
Be it girlfriend or a business colleague
What lies beneath this confident surface?
Is it just a veneer, a cloud of smoke?
Is there perhaps a frightened little boy
Quaking in his wardrobe, wet pyjamas?
Hoping that dad won't find him before mum?
His voice filling the ether 'Be a man'
Her voice softly whispering 'Don't worry'
'A young man standing in his own shadow' - Giant Glove
About the Creator
Paul Conneally is a Cultural Forager, poet and artist.
He writes on culture in its widest sense from art to politics, music and science and all points between.
His Twitter handle is @littleonion and on Instagram he is @little___onion
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