September 2013

I cannot get up, nor can I leave this box
nor un-stick my leg from this freezing tiled floor
No matter how hard I try I can’t
unlatch that cold lock and escape these
gray shields with a confident stride.
I must endure the coldness I receive from
them.

Them.
The faces that are not interested in seeking my companionship
but instead in dipping their curious fingers into my hair
just to see how far they can sink without
sounding the alarm
My mother said, “You’ll be so popular because you’re different. They’ll flock to you.”
I laugh now.
Birds of a feather may flock together, but just not to me.
Only when it will satisfy their intrusive hands, ignorant minds, and identical ways.

Identical.
Lululemon leggings and green straws
Khaki pants and Vineyard vine ties
I don’t recall there being a uniform
but I may be wrong.

I’m always wrong.
Ink bleeds through the once white papers that mirrored my
hopeful dreams of a satisfactory grade.
I look around at my peers, “Excellent!”
I’m lucky to be considered “Average” at best.

Yet, I’m below average.
My public school training cannot keep up with this private school race.
Even as I race to the baseline I am always catching the rear
“Get in shape!” are not words of encouragement
when even your own teammates fail at inclusion
and all I can see are sweaty backs and hear laughter and snide comments that
I cannot respond to
Because I’m not meant to.

I guess I’m not meant to
Fit this mold, nor be a Buc, whatever the hell that is.
Is it my blackness, my clothing, my speech, or my background?
I ponder this myself, as my high school experience seems to be
a long, predictable, boring pattern.
Like these white tiles I sit on.
The days are so hard and they’re
so cold.
Unlike my tears that crash to my thighs
while I wait for the ringing to cease and to hear a
groggy voice on the other side
Because I forgot about the lines that divide the land
With a trembling brush I try to paint the picture of this hell

as they try to coax me into going to class when the bell
strikes five ‘til
and not fall to the depths that paralyzes me
every time it crosses my mind.
But instead, they try to say that I am blessed.
That I can even look at these walls and sit on these
Cold
White
Tiles