Only sometimes do the people

Only sometimes do the people I meet
also meet me.
Not to be pretentious
in some poetic way
but I’m cloaked in fear
and the only thing running in my veins is dull and dying.
There’s person with a strong spine
with able hands
and steady feet
somewhere under the ash of burnt up energy
and I’m not crying out
I’m not really asking for anything
But I’d love walk by some of these beautiful people
I just can’t seem to get my hands out my pockets
To reach out
and wave back.