The Weight of Presence

In a crowded café, I wince at the brush,

a touch sends me reeling, my heart starts to hush.

Every hand that approaches ignites a sharp spark,

i yearn for the distance where shadows grow dark.

A stranger’s soft bump, a jolt that felt wrong,

how can warmth feel like daggers, so piercing, so strong?

I crave my own bubble, where safety resides,

my skin is a fortress, where silence abides.

Please understand, it’s not you I deny,

it’s the weight of my past that makes me comply.

So I linger in corners, keeping space clear,

a world of protection, where no one gets near.