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Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety, let's talk about anxiety:

The laughter felt hollow. "Just kidding!" they'd say,
But the jokes they would tell held a sting in their play.
Offensive and cruel, a twisted, mean rule,
"We're not racist, we swear! We've a friend from your school!"
But I was that token, the one they would name,
While behind all the laughter, I felt only shame.
A knife in my back, a malicious sharp crack,
A constant reminder of all that I lack.

One day, I strolled in, a grin on my face,
Reception was cheerful, a welcoming space.
Friends gathered quickly, all happy and loud,
We played soccer together, praised high in the crowd.
“Just kidding!” they laughed, as they tossed me the ball,
But even then, a small shadow began to enthrall.

The next day arrived, and their smiles felt so thin,
Sweet words they would offer, but something felt grim.
“Are you okay?” they would ask, with a glint in their eyes,
But behind all the kindness, I sensed a disguise.
A clinical comfort, wrapped tight in my fears,
The laughter felt forced, after all the past years.

So, I started to distance myself from the crew,
But their antics just worsened, a horrible debut.
Pretending to whip, with their laughter so loud,
Making statements unworthy, they thrived in the crowd.
Avoiding their taunts felt like such a lost game,
But their mockery lingered, igniting the flame.

Now, when I walk on, I feel eyes on my spine,
A scrutiny’s grip, like I’m trapped in a line.
Each shadow behind me, a judge with a scale,
And I’m just the subject in this haunting tale.
The world feels so heavy, their power’s a curse,
I’m lost in the chaos—am I doomed to rehearse?
Written from the tension between belonging and being othered. This is about the kind of "joke" that echoes longer than it should, the friendly fire that leaves bruises. It’s personal, it’s social, it’s quiet harm loudly felt.
the innkeeper Jun 2019
My existence isn’t something
you test out your empathy on

My humanity is not something
that asks for your sympathy

My life and loves and lived experiences
are liberated from your thin,
watery approval

Your opinion holds no bearing in my body.
ANH Sep 2018
The words I speak don't matter
to those who don't listen.

Screaming air to those who
don't care.

They think my lips spill poison
and would rather sew them shut.
And would rather mute my voice
to their locked ears.

I breathe fire
baked from years and years
of pressure from all around.

All the little sparks and scars
added up for so long
until I can no longer hold it in
my mind and heart.

You may believe me to be overreacting
to childish play
or teasing words

but what do you know?
Do you care?
Do you know what it's like in my shoes?

Can you take all those pinpricks of pain from over the years
and still stay sane?

They'd rather have me stay quiet.
Silent
Don't start a ruckus or
Complain.

Out of the way and never
bothering the
structure of our world
with my pain.

And why?
is maintaining a lie more important
than my voice?

— The End —