Pantoum Awkward

I feel strange before I show.
It’s a rotten way to start
but that’s what I chose,
so I’ll always be apart.

A rotten way to start:
mouth fumbles sound,
senses fall apart,
at these parties, bound

to lose my tongue in sound,
palms sweat more than cold beer.
Parties where I’m bound
present choked fears,

shed more drops than cold beer,
not the beer I chose;
bitter, it chokes the fear
stranger as I start to show.

 

 

 

About the Author: Stephen Lloyd Sherwood recently graduated from Hunter College with a BA in Creative Writing and Theatre Arts. He writes poetry, short prose, and plays. He has had work published in The Olive Tree Review. He currently lives in New York City, but originally hails from the Bay Area, California. (stephensherwood12@gmail.com)