I recall sitting still, my eyes reading but not interpreting
the sentences on the board.
I recall being warm, wondering if I shook my jacket off if
their gaze would shift and I’d be outed.
I recall not listening, but soaking in the spoken words,
a darwinian osmosis that evolved for horrified children.
When she dropped the question my mind stopped thinking.
Like she bored a hole through my skull, trying to find a reaction
to a statement I didn’t comprehend... but felt.
This noose is my cross, I lift myself up daily.
See me hoisted upon the clouds and walk on water,
making assertions with venom and purpose-
intentionally burning the worthless me.
And I stand firm with my feet growing roots
reaching toward the core, proving this earth can’t spin without me.
I am the axis of rotation for every trivial thought
turned revolution.
Proudly wear the scarlet letter for what I am- Arrogant.
Though I walk like a God, my mortality is on the altar.
Every feeling is analyzed and reduced,
a mechanism meant to self destruct when self-worth battery gets too low.
The steps from home to work are approximated for efficiency.
When I eat, it leaks earthy flavors to remind me where I come from.
If ever I fuck, procreation is aborted well before foreplay-
no love, just a sympathetic wet place.
Not between her legs, but the tears smeared across her face.
But it’s in those resounding, clinched eyes that I’m
reminded of my irrefutable ineptitude.
Though I know, seek, and understand, it is all
but a lens to see the true face of the cyborgs I walk by...
as if I were their creator, a depressed deity who
suffers enough to show that omniscience doesn’t mean shit.
The supreme architect whose foundation was cracked from the very start.
A simple uttering. A question is all it took.
In the end I’m just a machine seeking understanding
outside of this material, drowning being.
Trying to molt of this question like snake skin
not accepting that it’s chiseled in my bones.
I try desperately to prove that I’m worthy of history’s lessons.
That I wasn’t unconcerned but simply found more relevance
in the classroom of experience.
I recall sitting still, my eyes reading but not interpreting
the sentences on the board.
I recall being warm, wondering if I shook my jacket off if
their gaze would shift and I’d be outed.
I recall not listening, but soaking in the spoken words,
a darwinian osmosis that evolved for horrified children.
When she dropped the question to my mother,
my mind stopped thinking. Like she bored a hole through my skull,
trying to find a reaction to a statement I didn’t comprehend... but felt.
“Have you ever considered your son is a slower than the other children?”
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