Untitled #1

[Wjames]

The words are there to envelop me, 
a wall against the otherness should this be "my otherness"? If it's describing how the narrator is different, I think that it should be their trait.
that leaves me owing explanation;
marking me for stares,
names, entitled questions, fear.

The smooth pages offer me my escape, 
hiding behind the poppies of Mary Oliver,
the rantings of Bukowski,
the longing and ardor of Neruda. 
Their passion my salvation, my shield. Maybe add "is" before salvation.

One day I will rebuff the shifty stares, 
the too personal queries, violations of space. What are some examples of these questions and intrusions? I could relate better if I understand exactly what they are, and can envision it happening to me.
But, for today, I smile politely, 
and wait patiently to retreat again
into the lines and rhythm of the words. What's stopping you from rebuffing them?

I like the poem as a whole.