Chalkboard Bully
I tried
to learn.
I raised my hand,
but "why" was a dirty
word.
You sat me
in a corner
so I wouldn't be
a distraction
to the ones
whose moms
bought their clothes new
at the mall
and packed them lunches.
When I tried to talk
to them
the clean ones,
the ones who ate supper
every night
at a table,
I was always wrong.
When a blonde girl
pushed me down the bleachers
you told me
it was my fault.
If I didn't act so weird,
maybe the other kids
would be my friends.
You told me I should try
to fit in.
I tried.
The only things I learned
were how to make
myself invisible.
How to keep
my mouth shut.
How to not ask questions.
And how to hide
my learning,
how to make the knees and elbows
of adolesence
disappear
behind the pages of a book.
I escaped you,
chalboard bully,
curiosity crusher.
I escaped
with my mind.
I was lucky.