For National Poetry Month …
You Shouldn’t Wear Socks With Sandals
I tried so hard, so hard to fit in
The little world that turns around you.
I just don’t mesh with your clique —
Young and hip, your newest best friends …
Forever the outsider yearning to get in.
You think I don’t see the looks you give me,
The disdainful once-overs before the dismissal?
Who the fuck gave you the right to judge me?!
So what if I committed a fashion faux paux?
(You know you shouldn’t wear socks with sandals.)
Look, it always comes down to my “don’t care” looks.
I didn’t know my life was one big runway show,
A chance for you to showcase all my shortcomings,
To poke and prod because I am not “up-to-date.”
You only see what you want to see without really seeing,
Realizing what you’re doing to me on the inside. I hide.
I conceal it, bottle it up, let it all fester within.
And I smile, bleeding internally beneath my cheerful facade.
You’re too self-absorbed in your own little goings-on,
Your circle of friends who supercede any dealings with me,
Your constant need for reassurance that you’re this great person,
Your perfect life with the perfect man in your perfect home.
The bitterness is like an acid bath, slowly eating my insides out
As I sit there, oblivious to everything but my nasty thoughts,
These terrible, wrenching, self-pitying musings that never cease,
All the while longing to find a way to make you like me like you like them.
My skin bubbles and hisses and melts as my brain readies to cave inward
In this reverie, this trance, this state of melancholic euphoria
As I vehemetly pick myself apart all the way down to the bone.
I submerge myself in the malevolence consuming my hopeless soul. Drowning.