Wearing My Weirdness
A prose poem of self-acceptance
You know how you know when people are thinking
you’re kind of a Weirdo?… first it’s in their eyes —
pupils narrowing ever so slightly, lids hunkering down;
then it’s a crinkle in the face and a barely perceptible
lean back, and perhaps, from the bolder kids,
a sneer, a snort, sideways glance to their crew.
As you get older, the reactions get softer,
an awkward pause, nervous chuckle, swallow,
nod, excuse themselves to the buffet.
My small-talk is kinda wonky, like there is a malfunction
in the pumps and filters that move my thoughts
from my heart through my brain and out my mouth,
like the ‘right’ words that had sounded so fascinating
in my mind get caught in a choke valve in my throat
and come out mangled and off-center. And sometimes
I talk to myself out loud (I always have)
usually in the mirror; but it’s not a normal ‘pep talk,’
it’s just that I have to say the thing
