POEM: Mask of the Introvert [PoMo Day 28 – Confessional]

I vibrate wariness 
at the approach of strangers,

and have a face within my
Janus repertoire 
that is labeled: "off-putting."

An approaching stranger,
having passed by those cues,
will -- at some point --
realize something is off,
as if I'm holding my breath
'til the conversation's end -
but not that, precisely
At any rate, 
they will yield to whatever it is,
in due time.
[Maybe, I seem contagiously itchy.]

Remarkably, I went decades
without realizing any of this.

To be fair, I never get a good look
at myself
at the moment I'm meeting a stranger.
[And, if I did, I wouldn't have the
brainpan bandwidth 
to do anything with the information.]

Now, I'm training myself
to behave elsewise,
but the score is still
50 years to 1.