Scraping Nails
in the chasm of my brain
Tell me that I am wrong
to be better next time
clenched fists
raised up to the sky
praying to be better
not being able to fly
furrowed brows
dropped down
down to the ground
where the words belong
salted eyes
full of pain
but ready to smile
when some stranger walks by
Closed lips and attentive ears
Ready to listen
Hearing too many times
“You’re just a child, you don’t know
Learn from your elders
That’s the way to go”
Weak heart
Fully developed but broken
Stitches won’t work
On the holes those boys have spoken
“Go make me a sandwich”
They all seem to say
They don’t even ask
“Honey, how was your day”
The need to belong
To be free
To be perfect
The need to fit in
To be different
To be loved
The need to be strong
But the stereotype of weak
To show inferiority
To those who can’t see
The potential I have
And the light that I share
DO they really just want me
because I might look like a pear
I don’t want to be stuck
With anyone that thinks
That one person is better
No matter the kinks
So, I stand up and say
“Make the sandwich yourself”
My heart’s racing fast
But I play on a different beat
I don’t live in the past