The Involuntary Introvert Poem by Zach Cunningham

Overlooked, not overseen, too humble to make a scene
When boredom strikes the humble are discreet
And I ask myself what friendship means
When it suits them, they come crawling to our feet

When they just can't seem to find the time
In my desolate abode is where I reside
A place so sublime
In my head is where I hide

Aware of my solitude
Arduously seeking a resolution
But reluctant to seem rude
Unbeknownst to me, my words are just pollution