i am delicate

i didn’t learn this until i was taught

ten years with a woman

who only knows my struggles

and the triumphs i give her

 

the ones around me see something else

because that picture was created

by those who raised me

and said “you’re special,

smart, talented, better.”

 

so then what happens when reality

hits

 

 

 

there really is no such thing as special

because everything is special

so then by definition

nothing

is

 

 

i am sad but grateful

a dichotomy between worlds

of acceptance and hatred

 

and maybe someday

i’ll write a poem without the

pronoun i am