you know that feeling that you get often but not often. you feel parts of it constantly but only sometimes do you get the whole effect. that feeling that starts in your stomach- feels similar to a punch. it takes the breath out of you for what seems like an eternity of time, and before you can remember to breathe again, you become focused on this punch. it's expanding now. up your esophagus and all the way down to your abdomen. you can almost picture it as a big deep thick dark fog just spreading throughout your body. you fall to the ground gasping for air while blinded by all of the warm salty tears that snuck up on the back of your eyeballs ever so subtlety
it's the worst feeling i've ever felt.
its embarrassment.

Flower petals and confetti litter the ground.
Balloons held up by your friends.
Curious passersby gathering around.
You,being pushed towards the center of attention.
You, alone, in the middle of it all.
His friends wearing letters on their shirts,
Shuffling to spell out-

“will you marry me?”
It flashes on the jumbotron
In lieu of the kiss cam.
Fans hooting everywhere
“Say yes! Say yes!”, they scream
As he kneels on that popcorn and soda littered floor
And repeats-

“will you marry me?”
He says as his now sister-in-law gives you her bouquet.
His and everyone else’s eyes are on you.
Even though it’s his brother’s wedding’s reception,
he still managed to capture all the attention
Towards the two of you.

His eyes are brimming with tears
and glistening like the ring he’s holding.
He loves you. So much.
You love him,too. You know you do.
But how do you say I love you and no at the same time.
“I love you but, no.”
That doesn’t seem right.
So you stay on the middle ground and say
“I’ll have to think about it.”

The hooting turns to whispers
The tears on your boyfriend’s eyes come falling down
as he tucks the ring back in his pockets.
Your feet cemented to the ground
As people look at you as if you’re the strangest thing
to have ever existed.
And you may as well be.
No one says no to proposals.
It’s considered rude to reject such a thoughtful gesture.
But to whom is it being thoughtful of
Because it sure as hell isn’t of you
Since you’re the one who’s being viewed as a villain
But you have to remember that you’re not.

You are not a villain for saying no.
You are not the bad guy for not being ready.
Your decision is valid
And if he leaves you
Or makes a villain out of you
for being honest,
Then you were right to reject that ring.

Facing the wall,
On the edge of tears,
Only her shoulders speak.
Her right foot times the tension
Of the moment
In strained silence.

Across the way,
A friend, an adversary
Sits in shamed symmetry.
Her chin takes refuge
In her hand-
A hand that can’t contain the anger, the embarrassment, the fear.
A hand that hides the mouth that spoke too freely,
But now says nothing.

Wake up and smell the stench you made
again, you ****** it up again.
Self deprecating, grating shame
surrounds your stupid, childish hope
that you could live in love again.
      That crushing disappointment fills
the eyes and hearts of those around
and grabs your gut and wraps it round
your beaten, broken promises
in faith and fancy cruelly drowned.
     What fooled you into thinking that
redemption was within your reach?
Who made your mindless mind so each
and every time you try to speak
you **** all over verbal bleach,
      a choking stink that makes them retch
and run from you, the grody glitch,
the thoughtless, soulless, brutish *****
that bites each hand of human help
and digs her deeper, darker ditch.

Welcome to the self centered,
health center.
A hospital treating,  
ailments of the ego.

A patient with a bruised pride
having been chastised,
a marred mojo
and a hubris overblown.

X-Rays uncover,
the damage caused
by humiliation and regret.
Bones fractured by
that 'thing' he shouldn't have said

Miraculously, he did not die of embarrassment.
He's expected to make a full recovery

I'm not an idiot.
I have faced your subtle rejection
as often as one's own breath;
the sting and recoil dull with each
understated devastation.

Believe me when I say
that I kick myself
dutifully.
A jaundiced bruise for
each time the familiar
feeling creeps and wells beneath
my goose-pimpled skin.

Today, you brushed my hand
a second too long.
The day before, you leaned
against the wall-- I undressed
you with my eyes.

God knows
why I read into these moments.
The butterflies
are just as soon ripped
wing from flimsy wing.

I'm not fatuous. But I'll
take tomorrow's lashings with
a smile. Call me your
masochistic romantic. Cringe in
my blushing face.
Leave it to me to find the
cliched glint in your dull eyes--
for I will always get off on
falsities before
settling for indifference.

I'm such an embarrassment.
No one wants to be with me,
because clearly I'm not pretty
enough, thin enough, or good
enough for anyone.
Thanks for making me feel this way,
but don't worry, I'll get it over it, and
prove you wrong.

He kicked the can before any of us had even been frozen,
but it was full of his in-law's dip spit,
and so in his mid-sprint he slipped on the tobacco slick and accidentally slid straight into Elizabeth, who felt sick from the sudden hit to her stomach, so then vomitted all over Kent's apologetically bent head.