It's a funny thing,
When you're reminded you don't belong somewhere,
The subtle cues,
And small talk finally all add up,
That you really are the odd one out,
Just for being yourself.
I remember back in high school,
Which seems like an eternity ago,
That I was never one of the Cool Kids,
One of the Populars.
No I was never an Actor,
Or amongst the honors kids,
Not affiliated with the Athletes,
Nor anything in between.
I was the quiet kid,
The stage hand who worked behind the scenes,
The one who was smart,
Just not smart enough.
Yet I made a name for myself,
Not in how much I showed my face,
Not for my singing,
Nor my dancing,
But by making sure They looked good.
They who cast me no glance,
As I didn't step to their dance,
I didn't wear the brand clothes,
Or made sure my face was all done up.
I wore the black,
Made the stage look nice,
Had everything lined up for Them...
And I didn't do it for the recognition,
Not for the power,
Not for the Elites to like me,
I simply did it because I was passionate about it,
And when They finally saw that?
I wasn't the Bitch anymore.
See that's the title you get when there is no self gain for being the bad guy,
Its not pretty,
Nor favorable,
And eventually you wear it like a badge of honor,
Just so it doesn't hurt you anymore...
So the eye-rolls don't hurt as much,
So the talking behind your back is just white noise around you,
So you can forget the bitter exclusion that always happens.
As that is what they always tell you,
Sticks and stones hurt but Words will never hurt me,
That if you play off the insult,
You own what They have deemed you,
They have nothing to hurt you with...
But oh how that saying is so misguiding...
You can own that title,
Of being a Bitch,
Of being the bad guy,
Yet for how long?
How long until the yearning of wanting to fit in sets deep?
Those words seeping in slowly,
Poison slowly making its way to the heart...
They won't see the compassion,
The wanting to be there for everyone,
As that is what you do,
When you work behind the scenes.
The long nights of work,
The stress of keeping it all functional,
Keeping everyone happy...
Keeping up the wall so no one sees it hurts you,
Slowly...
Like tiny needles jabbed into your side over and over,
Yet you have to keep smiling...
That mentality of high school never changes,
The Actors prance on their stage with little thought of how it got there,
While those who work quietly in the shadows,
Make sure that stage is perfect for Them.
Only until They decide to see every hand-painted set,
Every spike mark on that stage floor,
Every light cue set,
The steps of Their dance finally change,
More in sync with what goes on around Them.
I once joked,
That the mundane world was different from the one I belonged in,
Seems less and less like a joke,
And more of reality.
I miss my tribe,
The people I never needed walls around,
The people who accepted me,
I miss my stage,
From the one back in high school,
To the one that is acres upon acres big,
Where I could hide in plain sight,
Or be seen just to be seen...
I really don't belong in this place...
So foreign and bitter,
That labels me this Bitch...
The kindest Bitch they may ever meet...
The kindness they will never see...
YOU ARE READING
Poems Of An Average Girl
PoetrySo this is the poem book I have written for the people who like my poetry but are sick of it always being about Love xD so enjoy and comment if you so choose. If a poem has a "*" after it, it touches on some very dark subjects and are to read with c...
