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





there really is no such thing as special

because everything is special

so then by definition





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