New poem. It's been that kind of day.

Cognative Dissonance


When I am with you
I do not sparkle,
I do not spin,
I do not twirl, whirl, sizzle, dazzle.

I choose my words carefully,
knowing I will still be misheard
misunderstood
and wrong.

I will be very, very wrong.

I am twelve
and will always be twelve.

I try not to make jokes.
Jokes are factually incorrect.
Even when they aren’t,
they are.

I smile. Politely.
I laugh at your jokes.
Even when they’re about me,
I try.

I try.

I walk away a dull grey,
sopping with tears to cry in private.
I hate looking at your world where anyone not like you is corrupt,
where Murphy’s law’s Venn diagram encompasses the world.
I feel so sad
and I don’t know who you are.


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