Outstanding - Poem #1

Fashion trends,

hundred dollar denims,

name brands ignorant tongues struggle to pronounce.

Folks slow-mo strolling, sporting the sweetest sneakers.

On the tongue, silhouette of the greatest baller ballin’.

Though these shoes made for ballin’ are rarely actually balled in,

More serving simply as a symbol someone’s ballin’.

That wasn’t me.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted it to be.

It just wasn’t in the cards. 

I was a diamond in the rough looking rough.

Couldn’t quite make the cut

to converse with kids in the cool club.

See, my mother is a queen.  My father is a king,

but here in America, laughed at like jokers.

Dealing with discrimination due to dialect differences,

receiving insults in spades across jobs to pay bills.

I didn’t have the heart to ask for more than they could give.

As a result I’m persecuted and ridiculed.

Made to feel miniscule, pitiful, miserable

by individuals who

could keep tabs on my non-existent swag,

but couldn’t figure to tab to start a paragraph.

But I’d be lying if I said those words didn’t bother me.

Those words.  Those words. Those words.

Sharp.  Spiteful.

Harsh.  Hurtful.

Vile. Vicious. Venomous. Vulgar.

Cold. Callous.

Direct. Damaging.

Powerful. Punishing. Painful. Piercing

through my emotional armor. 

Couldn’t tell pops or mama.

They’d want to know why the kids at school were trying to make me cry.

(Though that wasn’t their goal.  They were just making fun of me.

I wonder why they call it making fun when none of it was fun for me).

And if my parents knew -

If my parents knew,

they’d do any and everything they could do.

Find another job.

Get a credit card.

Work extra hours.

Take shorter showers.

Eat smaller meals.

Put off a few bills.

Turn down the heat.

Even wear cheaper shoes on their feet.

All to make sure I smiled.

So, I smiled a smile full of lies

hoping my reality wouldn’t tell its story on my face.

Put on a brave front at the home front

and never uttered a word.

For them to sacrifice more would’ve absurd,

but back at school, the suffering continues. 

I know my place

on the outside of inner circles,

on the wrong side of inside jokes,

at the bottom of the social ladder,

in front of the verbal firing quad.

And with so much time by myself,

devised a plan by myself

for myself

simply to be myself.

And maybe one day they’ll figure it out.

Fitting in for me wasn’t an option.

So all that’s left is for me to be out…

standing.