1 poem | Linda M. Crate

they all stare
with lecherous eyes
smirking to themselves
asking me personal
i do not wish to answer,
i want to shriek at the top of my lungs;
yet instead i smile and say,
"how can i help you?"
they just stare before answering
as if to savor the way my
lips curve
as if i'd give them the time of day—
i make their food,
and they simply seem to think i am beneath
them a cockroach they will one
day step upon;
i, however, am more ambitious than they
could ever dream me of being
one day i will conquer
dragons they didn't even know existed
stand taller than the redwoods
become a better person—
while they'll still be sitting their with glazed eyes
crooning over the new sub girl,
jabbing her with questions
she doesn't want to hear.

they all laugh at me
all the skinny girls in their designer clothes
chatting cattily away sometimes
on their cell phones
looking at me as if i am the cockroach
they'll crunch beneath their
expensive high heels,
and i just want to write them into a scene
of my novel make them trip on the stairs and impale
themselves on their own stiletto;
i have a temper that burns brighter than the sun and a fury
that could rival the angriest moon as she dashes the
ocean through rock—
i know being this angry can't be healthy,
but i am tired of people looking down their noses at me
simply because i am different than they are
because i wasn't born with money like they were or
just simply they can't figure me out;
i am not like them and i thank
heaven for that everyday
because i would hate to walk straight in line
without knowing what it stood for.

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