Introversion / Ginny Jones


This is an intro to one version of my story.
Don’t mistake it for an allegory,
because I am nestled in these words,
tucked in the curves of all the Cs, Ds, and Ss
you won’t have it guess if this is the truth.

See, it started in my youth.
Actually, it started in the womb
where, I, entombed then forced out into this world,
presented the countenance of a shy little girl,
but, honestly, I just didn’t want to be bothered.
I was too busy authoring stories in my mind
to find the time to socialize with everyone.

I could carry on for hours
devoured by the inner workings of my brain,
insanely creating worlds that only I could live in,
and refusing to give in to social norms.
I had different forms of pleasure
that I treasured far more than fitting in,
and making friends was never my top priority.
As the majority of my time was spent on imagination,
mental creations of multilayered scenarios.
From the ethereal to the very depths of darkness,
there was a sharpness in me that had me always slightly on edge.

Teetering on the ledge of fantasy and lucidness,
I was always presenting an elusiveness that kept everyone at bay.
Wondering why God made me this way,
I really began to hate my introversion.
I found it disturbing that I wasn’t quite like everyone else.
I hated myself for being so strange,
but I couldn’t seem to change who I was inside.
No matter how hard I tried,
I still found the greatest joy in aloneness.

So, I started to own this part of who I am,
stopped condemning myself for who I ought to be,
and caring of what people thought of me.
That’s when I found that I was free to live in harmony.

You see, I can be disarmingly charming when I’m not so packed into a      box.
It was then that I got some social stock and capital by
realizing that actual friends love you even when you’re “weird.”

Your conscious can be clear,
because you know they love your quirks.
They don’t think that you’re a jerk.
They “get” that you’re an introvert,
and they learn to make it work, because that,
That is what friends do.

Shoot, some of them are introverts too so they really understand,
and don’t demand that you change the way that you were made.

So I stopped being jaded about it.
I no longer doubted that it was a gift from God or
if I was odd, but blessed with creativity.
The ability to create solar systems with words,
I could craft a whole universe in my head alone.

And that...
that’s a sign of the throne,
because God created mankind in His own image.
Who am I to pillage his creation with criticism
or have cynicism about how he has formed me
and transformed this personality for His glory?

And this…
Well, this is just an intro to one version of my story.

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