Cold Shoulder

Across the crowded room
you talk to your friends,
engaged in deep conversation,
which Michael Jackson song is better:
Thriller or Human Nature.
I walk right by you
and you turn your head
but I don't.
Yes, I see you.

You walk across the street,
heading towards the convience store.
You get a soda, potota chips, and a honey bun.
You use exact change to pay.
I stand two people behind you in line.
You leave without me saying hi.
Yes, I see you.

We're hanging out with a small group of friends
in a equally small room.
Our eyes meet
but we disengage immediately.
We talk to anyone
but each other.
Yes, I see you.

I stop.
I stare.
I analyze.
I rationalize.
I approach.
I frighten.
I run away.

Because I don't know if you see me,
if you notice the things that I do.

Everytime I open my mouth,
dry air chokes me to submission.
I don't know what to bring up
with out letting you know explicitly,
vividly what I think of you.

If only I had more confirmation
of where you stood on the matter.
Then it would be easier.
But it's not.
So I'll continue to ignore you
as I watch your every move
and hope that some day
you'll see me too.

Word.