It lingers at the base of my neck,

The ghost of a look, or maybe it was real,

Laughter is beautiful, but it can’t be traced and I’m unable to check.

So true is a gaze before realization,

The one where you stare through; unaware,

This is my least favorite, it always keeps me in my station,

So hard is it to tell the difference between admiration and a glare.

It’s creative, the line, whether it’s true or not,

I hold it close whether I believe it or not,

And it’s repeated whether I need it or not.

Unlike a switch that I can choose to flip one way or another,

This haunts me on an unreachable backburner,

Thank you, but one option outweighs the other.

I do my best to be liked,

And I know it’s not up to me,

But I can’t help it when my worries are spiked.