Confessions of an Almost Not So Reject
I remember ridicule
like ridicule was Tuesday,
no matter what I did
I'd always run into it early in the week,
I rode to school,
imposed into the middle of the bus,
my social skills made even those delegated to the front
wary, about making room,
I guess in short, my life has seen a lot of empty seats,
conversation, like coordination, often announced my doom
I tripped all over it, ungainly, like my
awkward, lanky stance,
falling face first into the pariah,
known as geek,
they simply couldn’t understand me
because I was always good at math
because I told jokes that no one laughed at
and I talked in too many syllables
because I
liked watching Jeopardy more than MTV
and speaking of tv, I was on it once
a show called Brain Game
(instant invisible)
I couldn’t dance, talked real soft
and never once took the chance
to invite the pretty girls into an atmosphere where
I feared they couldn’t breathe
they couldn’t see me
so I lingered close enough to the edge where
no one would ever ask me to leave
and I was nice enough and likeable,
with enough normal hidden up my sleeve
that every once in a while
I received a smile, a pat on the back from the jock
that understands his homework now
those were better days, when angst steered clear
and I didn’t feel that aching need
to disappear
of course, the bullies always saw me
scoped out from miles like a maladroit oasis, where
they could come and piss their cares away
or syphon out my substance because they knew
I had no choice
even at 5’10 by 15, I was imposing only in voice
except when the force crept out of it
legs getting weak, counting out my very last $10
to some creep who keeps on shouting
(he didn’t have lunch money that day)
just as funny as the things our minds won’t let us remember,
are the ones we keep telling it to forget
like being scared of nothing, forever
or skipping class because, even though you like the subject, you
don’t like being subjected, and have this fear that you won’t enjoy it
not there,
forever a ball in a room full of walls, and
they just love to bounce you off of them
I remember ridicule
like ridicule was Friday,
after a while, thanking God for it
just tends to feel cliché,
it only made me stronger, because it made me helpless
and no one ever wants to feel that way
but I’m different now, still lanky
yet more comfort aligns my stance
I get down on the floor with the best of them
even though I still can’t dance
the fear is gone, those hapless peers
as relevant as their last names, which escape me
now, even when I’m nervous, my voice thunders
echoing all that’s changed
I don’t worry about the pretty girls anymore
and at times, I relish empty seats
as comfortable, hanging out on the stoop with the fellas
as I am debating opinions with teaching fellows
but every now and then, for a moment
when this world seems to be an empty night sky, and
all the of the stars are asleep....
I am returned to ninth grade classrooms
the teacher eyeing my lack of attention
“Mr. Jamison….what are you doing?”
my pencil trembles
as the once averted ears of so-called peers all
suddenly simultaneously listen
“…..writing a poem”….the words stumble from me
“Oh! you have time for poetry, well maybe you could share it with the class”
my heart beats as hard as the d’s in dissed
as I try to dismiss the barrage of soft laughs
shaky, sweaty palms touch page like
emotions, on the ink-stained tips of pens
I sigh, close my eyes
my heart leaks out in a whisper
“Somewhere there is nothing
And nothing ever matters in the end
I wish, just once, that nothing was everything
then, finally, I could blend….”
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