This isn’t a pity poem
who the hell wants to read one of those?
but if I’m honest
which I’m not very often
preferring to put on a mask and sit mutely smiling on the outside
it’s sometimes harder to pretend and say nothing
than let it out
if I did let it out
what would IT look like?
am I really so bad for having an urge to share?
the empty feeling inside
surely that’s how we hope to fill ourselves
with something other than hot air or quiet despair?
one thing worse than peripheral is rejection, so usually
we stay quiet about how we really feel incase it’s true
nobody really gives a damn once you’re grown
how I got to this juncture is the easy part
a girl is born, her gender is already
a strike against her in a world easier on men
we don’t treat girls very well
maybe there should also be a rule against small families having smaller families
call it what you like, I call it diminishment
I was diminishing before I was born
when there’s nowhere to go, you usually strive to go up
but I was bad at direction, turned into a box turtle and hid in my shell
hoping someone would pry me out
that was my second mistake
generally it’s worth noting, people do little for free
if I could tell myself that I’d have said; Don’t rely on anything but you
you end up staying inside too long by yourself
before you know it, even the language you speak
taints your chances to pretend to be normal
I look
at photographs of other people
they are surrounded by people, fitting in like
well crafted pieces of puzzles I do not fit
I was the kid sent off to eat with other families, never my own
it felt like a kick in the shins then, and everytime since
feeling ackward in a crowd
because I didn’t learn how
to belong
so this isn’t a pity poem
i’m not chafing with self imposed isolation
not the girl who smiles when she’s crying, or maybe I am
or the one who feels more alone when amongst a crowd
everything is so quiet when that’s how you’re born
it takes a fortitude I don’t possess to break the cycle
erase the twenty years forming a tongue without social skill
I hear the sounds of a party rising over the walls
a party I could be at though, I know
i’d be pressed against the wall without a way out
though all I’ve ever wanted is to learn a way in
i whisper
i am irrelevant in this scenario
self worth is tied to others even as we know it comes from ourselves
i didn’t generate any faith
so I don’t believe in God or me
but I do believe in you
if this was a pity poem I’d ask
why you didn’t help me learn how to live?
though I know the answer already
you couldn’t do it yourself, what chance for me?
we’re cut from the same cloth, you and I
that’s why we both hide
like the man in the high tower
did he ever feel as lonely as I do?
why didn’t he need
the things I cannot seem to reach
it’s like I am stretching out for them
but the betrayal of beginnings and everything after and before, is too deep
we betray ourselves most of all
in trying to be what we just aren’t able to
a teacher once told me you can be anything at all
that’s a lie I know it
we each have chances and some of us have fewer props
so we stand ackwardly by the side
trying to be someone we’re not
until the inauthenticty feels like a curse
we revert to type even as we dislike who we are
this was set in motion before we knew
we’re just the next generation of lost
not self pity, no, more like a pain
a mere poem cannot do justice