Yours anxiously,

I always feel a surge of inadequacy coursing through my veins,
If I said it was a one-off and dismissed it with a joke ...
You've seen me for the pathological liar I can be,
Offering up meek witticism to swallow down the bile of my own uncertainty.

This stream of anxiety far outmuscles the ebbing brilliance,
Carefully constructed to divert how longing I am suspect to become of approval ...
Although sometimes the barebones wit and the stumbling boyhood charm break the ice,
And we happen to be doing well beyond the perpetual jitter, know that I'm a ticking time bomb.

I have this scar inside my head that seems to have developed unshakable inadequacies,
And on days I refuse to acknowledge him and flutter about with a contentment,
He leaves me bleeding at the throes of Mercy of someone else's fascination ...
Where my diminishing sense of self-worth is overjoyed that I've handed the keys over, one more time.

Look carefully into my eyes with all the sincerity you can muster when our paths do cross,
And you'll see me wearing all my life-force on my sleeve, like a pooch in much need of just your love.
If you think that makes me needy, I need you to politely step away,
For not even self-preservation interests me when I've succumbed to the charms of your existance.

I ask just one last thing human, if you see me care too deeply and you are not wired to return my affection,
Treat me like a fine piece of China and leave me on the shelf, for on it's own, my solitude is retrospective.
But don't cut me with mind-games and finely tweaked monopolisation and polarisation of my senses,
Because I'm anxious people, and we, are but a stone's throw away from being fed up of an existance validated by vicarious judgement.