Shy

When relatives visited I'd disappear.
Retire to my room. Even when present
I wasn't really there.

I couldn't cope with grown-ups
who teased, asked questions,
made fun of my clothes and hair.

'Stick a pole up his arse
and sweep the floor with him,'
suggested Uncle Ken.

I get the 'joke' now.
I had a mop of Jimi Hendrix hair.
But...

Mealtimes were the hardest. Trapped
at the table, nowhere to hide, I'd
be blushing continuously.

Reserved, reticent, introverted, shy,
and angry, was the reason why
I kept out of the way.

Yes, I was a touchy teenager. Moody?
Maybe. Pretentious? Possibly. Misunderstood?
But of course. All my actions misconstrued.

Mum just thought I was being rude.