november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind




At times I catch myself
committing the crime of
feigning interest.

I nod frequently at
slivers of chatter, and smile
to hide my disdain at
repetitive exploitations of
topics that easily resemble
the nine circles of hell.

My mind is not designed
for ready-made conversations
that chain words to be
crowd-pleasers, but
roots fervently for anyone
whose train of thought is
original, and fulfils my
craving for meaning.

I shine at soul-level
communication, or alternatively
at sarcastic banter. Pick one, and
you will have my undivided attention.


© Novemberchild
in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle 370
photo credit: via



Dressed in resignation
and chained by a sense of duty,
we brace ourselves for
being penned up in a room
full of people wearing
importance and faux smiles
in their chase of acknowledgement
and admiration.

I adore you, you know,
you are so much better at
making the best
of any given situation,
mingling gracefully
while I, ever pensive,
try to get to the bottom
of my aversion for
social gatherings like this.

So I cling to my glass
of whatever is fashionable
at the moment, in the hope
it will drown my non-compliant
notions, and keep my inner rebel
under lock and key.


© Novemberchild
photo credit:  artist unknown
The Sunday Whirl Wordle 318


I have made a mosaic of
our conversations, frantically
inserting colourful shards of
desperation to fill in
the uncomfortable gaps.

I dive headfirst into your silences
which equally repel and attract me,
unable to sit this one out while
suffering from flashbacks to a place
where silence equalled punishment.

I choke on the pleas I will not voice,
raising my shield of nervous smiles,
and taking refuge in jokes, and sarcasm,
anything, really anything,
to cover up my fear, and confusion.

© november child
photo credit: Pat Mitchell
I happened upon this site while searching for a photo. I am not a fan of mosaics but this artist made some powerful, and beautiful works of art.


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