Little drummer boy in my class
Ratta-tat-tat
Beating on his desk
Tappity-tap-pat
Keep the beat going friend

I've never spoken with you
But your knocks tell me everything
You are so pumped, excited
Today's the day
And your poor pencil gets to be your outlet for your excitement

The teacher tells you to "knock it off"
He doesn't get the irony
Mister, don't you see that he's trying to?
Regardless, that energy has to go somewhere
So now the pencil goes to work
On your paper
I can see the hearts, and the unmistakable names

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
Now your leg goes to work
Like a jackhammer on the floor
Little Thumper, if only she could see just how excited you are
The flowers in the bag, the sign propped up against your desk
A smile creeps across my face
As my mind drifts to my own experience

Thump-thump-thump
Now my leg goes to work
Like a contagion, the room is infected
Love is, after all, in the air

I have a problem
It isn’t a secret, but it isn’t something you’re likely to know
You see, I can’t cry
I try and I try
But, the tears never come
And my riverbeds stay dry

I don’t really remember when it started
This isn't how I was before, I know
But, did something happen?
Is it something I’d rather forget?

Did I break?
I don’t remember breaking
But, I’m broken nonetheless

Are tears like glue?
Could they fix what shattered?
Am I scared that if I repair myself I’ll remember?
Remember?

It’s not that I don’t want to cry
It’s just that, the tears don’t flow
They build up in my eyes, and it aches
I want to cry… And it hurts

They say real men don’t cry
Well, I guess that makes me a man
I suppose I became a man years ago
But, it wasn’t my time!
I had no choice
Just like that, I grew up
And now I feel old, worn
Tired, torn

Did I use all of them?
Where did they go?
And, what exactly made that river flow?
All these thoughts and questions run through my mind
The headache has already begun
I want to cry
But I can’t
They- the tears
They don’t flow
Don’t flow
Won’t flow
Can’t flow

No one would suspect
No one knows
It’s not a secret
But no one ever asks why you’re not crying

When I am described

Average is a common word

Just another person

Just another face in the crowd

Just… Me.

But aren’t I?

Me: The only true word to describe myself

I am me

But I try not to be

When they stare or laugh

There is no one I’d rather be less

Than me

I hear their voices talking

About that dreaded person

Me

But the voices aren’t real, in my head

And still...

But I’m just like you

Or at least close enough

But to anyone else

Just being myself

A sin, a crime

But at the same time

They couldn’t care less

Just me, just another lost soul in this messed up place

Looking for love, receiving none

Caring to a fault

But, that isn’t me

It couldn’t be!

Not for what they see

A character, an extra

Seen, not heard

With no explanation

As to why he’s there, or who he is

Ordinary in every way

Slightly above average at best

But, I lower my gaze

My time alone has ended

No more out loud thoughts of dejected rejection

I shut my mouth, bow my head

I need my rest

After what wasn't said…

I, am Me

The average schmo, I’d rather not be