Alone in a Crowd

Alone in a crowd

Alone in a crowd, I watch
the quiet eyes of disapproval,
hidden meanings behind veiled smiles,
the perfectly moistened ruby lips,
the Coach bags caressing curveless hips
Who made them the experts,
the scale by which I weigh
my worth as a woman?

Who made them the experts
of what a girl must weigh,
of what she needs to say
to be the gracious host,
the most intriguing guest?
I do not understand this art of saying more
and meaning so much less. Why is it
that they treasure denial of soul, of self?

She said, “Can you believe she wore that dress?
I looked around, for whom she had addressed.
It was I, and what an accident.
She must have thought me an expert
in bad taste, or the newest fashion trends.
“What was she thinking?,” I mused.
My cheap gloss hidden by unpolished fingertips,
I repainted my lips and smiled an absent grin.

The girl looked down then glanced my way.
A dart struck through my soul
as I imagined I heard her voiceless cry,
“I’m awkward and unwelcome here. But that girl
has it figured out. What have I missed
that I stick out in all the ways unwomanlike.”
But no, I thought, you’ve got it wrong,
I’m not like them. I dance to my own song.

So I, perched by the trendy belle, looked like I belonged.
I playing this game of lies and shame. She thought I knew it all.
When really, I yearned to cry aloud, “I am only an expert
in how it feels to be alone in a crowd.”

40 Lines

This was the original poem.  The short story by the same name was created out of this poem. 

The prompt:
An expert is a man who tells you a simple thing in a confused way in such a fashion as to make you thing the confusion is your own fault.
--- William Castle