I’m going to start writing
narrative poetry again because they say they don’t understand my poetry
anymore, I’m not writing poems, I’m writing songs. People rarely get
me because I’m always so off tune. I heard a few new stories about myself
today, so many people telling stories. I wonder why so many stories are untrue
and always unkind.
My neighbor said, “Hey let
me share what people are saying about you. Many people living here say you’re
very unstable, like Ms. Humble on two says this is true about you. I try to
explain you’re just a little different, that your mind is very good and it’s
not true you’re unstable. I tell them you worked hard all your life so you can
collect a pension and how could they think someone unstable could think that
one through. I know though, it took a lot of planning and calculation, but they don’t
want to hear it.
Their minds are already
made up, “Unstable,” you’re labeled. They say you’re really not very sane; you
don’t do things the right way. I point out that you’ve been able to thrive, you
calculate interventions, and you’re savvy to the system you survived. They see
how colorful you are so they judge you by the colors you wear and are blind to
your capability. They don’t see you know how to face adversity. They define you
as flighty.
They judge you by their own
veracity. They can’t see who you really are.
I am tired of this same old
story. Well, better stop telling them then I say to my supposed friend. They
can’t hear if they refuse to listen.
I’ll always be an outcast.
What can I do? I keep making amends and trying to make new friends.
Leave me alone to sing my
blues, tone deaf and off tune, alone, singing my blues.
