I don't do poetry, just prose.
My world is a bubble; a glass sphere. The people around me, walking, talking, laughing, weeping I can clearly see. But I can't connect; they are not in my world, and I am outside theirs. Even facial expressions, so easy to read and comprehend for others, are so distorted by the glass that I can't make them out. Emotional depth is beyond me; it washes over the sphere and passes me, without ever touching me.
Perhaps I'm an arsehole. Or perhaps I'm just me, living as I always have in the world I've always known.