Most see
skin and hair
hung with textiles,
moving in channels
forged in destiny
held checked in
compliance.
I see
tides of torment
awash between
shaking bones
barely holding a upright
stance in resistance
to visceral desires
of the soul.
Most hear
platitudes of veiled
jealousy
or stifled needs,
muted drums
in rhythms
unheard within
a vast forest
of conformity.
I hear
plaintive cries of
creativity,
screeches
of chalk on
blackboards
of rubber
that still leave permanent marks
in silence.
Most feel
learned love
and hate
and devolved socialization,
making space to belong
in a world that cares not
whether they see another
morning revelation
I feel
betrayed
and bereft in that
I am hobbled at
reaching them
with a kiss or a tear,
unfullfilled
in my sincerest humanities
Most think
of me as contrived,
presumptive,
egotistical,
or even “simple.”
I think
I can endure that
only so long before
I just blend into “getting along,”
Or die, shamed and forgotten.
-Jerry Wendt 2018
