A Woman so Ill as Me
They thought it was cute when I was six,
how I regularly talked to imaginary friends.
My mother, amused, played along and asked me about their day.
I found it strange how she never replied when they talked to her themselves.
Her face was covered by a mask of confused regret
when in third grade, the teacher called her in.
I sat swinging my feet as they dangled above the floor,
oblivious to the concern.
My teacher said I had no friends, as the children laughed at me.
Every day I sat at a table with creatures that no one could see.
My mom agreed that I was better suited in special class
where they could better accommodate my needs.
I skipped to the car, holding my somber mother's hand.
My animalistic friends already awaited in the car for me,
but this time they laughed sickly, imitating the kids at school.
Mom's face turned red when I asked why the teacher said I should be moved
to a class with whom they called 'the special kids'.
I cringe at the loud howls and jeers of a dozen voices
as she screamed I must grow up,
for people will think I'm crazy.
Years have passed and I don't mention the voices at all.
My childhood friends follow me everywhere,
but now mock that I'm insane.
I shut the door to my bedroom and turned to the many faces around me.
"Alright," I beckoned the voices, "its time we had a chat."
I dropped to my knees and pleaded that the hallucinations would go away.
My mom stormed in and shook me hard by the shoulders,
fear and frustration screaming that this madness has to end.
The next day she took me to the doctor,
where he told us I was schizophrenic.
Emotionless, with nothing much else to say,
he hands me a prescription to ease my convoluted mind.
I take my pills in private to swallow the demons
who scream I am but a waste of skin.
Bloody smiles inflicted by my shaken hand laugh in sync
to the cacophony of my peers as I amble down the hallways.
The stigma like a neon sign pointing to the freak show,
those who do not snicker distastefully instead cower in fear.
Back home, we sat at the table with my dad.
My heart wretched as my mother cried,
and said I was insane.
She choked through bitter tears,
assuring me I will never marry or have any friends;
For who in their right mind would want a woman so ill as me.
YOU ARE READING
The Ways in Which We Walk the Earth
PoetryPoetry to nourish the soul and mind, for better or worse.
