Shy girl, it is not your fault;
it is mine.
It is my fault
that I fell through the trapdoors of infatuation,
landing hard on the unforgiving ground of trolling solitude,
then forgetting how to stand up, for my knees were weak
every time I was around you.
Your eyes are like kryptonite,
your voice a Siren’s song,
your smile a green arrow to my heart.
It is my fault
for not presenting myself the way
that I want you to see me as.
Sometimes, love is like cosplay –
we show ourselves in flashy attire,
emulating an image that we want to project on others.
I fear that I appeared to you
as a desperate loner,
a downtrodden victim of broken hearts,
a zero instead of a hero.
It is my fault
for the vulnerability for you I possess.
I was too shy to have confronted you,
so I slipped a confession in the pages
of “The Amazing Spider-Man”
and remained
anonymous
until the silence was too loud for me to bear.
It is my fault
that I underestimated your shyness,
your disinterest, or perhaps, your uncaring.
Grizzled Youth 