It’s hard being an extrovert.
Because, while being everywhere, and knowing everyone, I end up belonging nowhere, and knowing no one.
It’s all fun, running around talking to everyone,
But at the end of the day, I have no one to talk to.
I get along with everyone, but I don’t get anyone.
I’m always surrounded by people, chatting away in a group, but I take a step back, and look around and realize I don’t belong here.
I’m always jumping, from one group to another
The busy bee, busy being the girl who knows everyone, the girl who’s there everywhere…
But am I really?
Everywhere, everyone is already a family, complete and content without me
Sure, they will welcome me, and take care of me,
But eventually, I will have to leave and be on my way,
Because guests don’t stay forever.
And so, I’m on the road, yet again, wandering about, looking for a place to stay.
I’m always welcome into different houses, but all I’m looking for is a home to go to.
Don’t get me wrong, I love wandering about
I love being welcomed into different families and different houses
I love being a part of their lives,
Of always being an outsider,
Of not having a family of my own,
Of not having home to return to,
Of not belonging.