Rant

One isn't the loneliest number.
Loneliness grows exponentially
at the rate of people around.
I feel most lonely in a crowded room,
when I'm face to face
with the distance I've created
from those around me.
Acknowledged but never mentioned,
seen but never spoken.
If my pain is silent,
can you still see it?
Or does it continue within me,
unbeknownst to any bystanders
any witnesses
for the impending implosion?
We're all waves,
making our way through the sea,
waiting to be all we can be,
for our one moment to reach shore,
then retreating again into anonymity,
into obscurity,
into meaninglessness.
We can never mean anything
to anyone
if we mean nothing
to ourselves.
I need wings to fly
but mine seem to be clipped,
or maybe I was made without them equipped.
A grounded bird among the doves,
a copper coin among the gold.
Catch me, since you can.
Toss me, if you want.