Mouse

I am the quiet little mouse

that nibbles holes in skirting-boards,

dark holes to hide within;

in-between the spaces in the walls,

dark cavities built brick-by-brick,

a private place, a place for solitude,

a place for this reclusive

intro-vert-ed happy child.

They hunt me out –

the cats that is –  

prey on me with cruel mew,

paw at me with protracted claw,

try to scratch out words that don’t exist,

kill my sense of who I am.

I don’t want to play and make them purr,

I just want to be left alone.

Anna :o]

Karin at dVerse has us writing of any of the ideas of twins, opposites or divided selves and I thought I would write of my divided self.

Although not realising it then, as a child I was introverted, the child with not much to say and I knew I was different.  I could relate to adults more than I could to my peers – but I did have two good friends in my early years, friendships’ that carried through from primary to junior school.  And they were good strong and comfortable friendships and with them, my friends, I had much to say.

At the age of eleven my family moved from (a then and maybe still) rich southern coastal town to colder climes and it was here I realised how different I was.  Sitting at the desk of my new form teacher in my new school I glanced at the records (she was reading) from my previous school on which was written ‘doesn’t appear to have many friends’ and was hurt by this and couldn’t understand it at all.  Why would I need more friends?

Life was much harder in this new town and my difference led to me being bullied and quiet little mouse that I was, I accepted it, that is, for two years and then I fought back, having a ‘scrap’ with one of the bullies, which I lost – but won their respect and they never bothered me again.

Much later, when one of my children reached four, I had an internal scrap with myself, for this mouse needed to open her mouth to prevent a great wrong and it was at this time I invented the extrovert me.

Most people who know me, or think they know me – don’t know me at all.  To them I am the happy extrovert; outgoing, humorous, gregarious and they are comfortable with me – as I am with them.   Not very deep inside, the real me exists, I can count on one hand close friendships – I still don’t need anymore – I love solitude, quiet, thinking; hate parties, large gatherings at which I am expected to speak and hate noise.  Being the extrovert me, I am very happy having lived in its clothing for so long – being the introverted me, I am even happier.

Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author: Lxowie