I can only imagine how this must look to you:
Thin as a rail, frail, pale, and moving at a snail’s pace across a crowded room. Stuttering and soaked in sweat.
I swallow all of my regrets while I bite my tongue
For all the things that I’ve never done or that I thought but never said.

Some people make an art of watching life pass by.
Not me, I watch the watchers, I’m that far behind.
With so much time and effort growing up,
You’d think I’d take the time to grow a spine.
You would think I would’ve at least fucking tried.

I can only imagine how all of this must sound:
Mumbled and jumbled words stumbling
Tumbling from my awkward, clumsy, and bumbling mouth.
Thoughts forcing themselves out in words, composing incomplete sentences.
There is no sense to it.
They’re likely better left unheard.

Some make a science out of keeping their heads down but I’ve one-up on them, because mine’s buried underground.
With so much thought put into what’s been said,
Its likely best if I don’t make a sound.
I’m better off fading right into the background.
It’s not about self-doubt or deprecation,
It’s more about knowing my limitations
And learning how to crawl between all my destinations,
And learning to be patient about my frustrations.