singled out late

and there they all stand
already begun,
and here I come,
late and the clock ticks with every step
I take, making me late, making me late.

the shame and the pain
of sticking out so plainly,
in front of them all,
in front of them all, innocently guiltless,
passively okay, done nothing wrong,
all's good, all's fine,
but who's this guy
coming up late? who does he think he is,
bringing up late?
can bend the rules? disobey
what we all keep to?

who said he can be late?

and the unthought thoughts,
that I plaster onto their foreheads,
brewed and fomented,
frothed and hydrated
in the panic of my fevered mind
crash cymbally onto my face,
into my ears,
and my pain mounts, I am chastened
by
myself in the lonely silence
of coming late and
sticking out so sorely,
like
a bruised thumb.

---
Image from here.