Another Teenaged Poem

Poetry Project #15

Losers

We walk down the halls

singled out always

And when someone calls

ahead of us they gaze.

We walk heads down

our shoulders slumped

In the crowds we drown

with our backs humped.

In our classes we sleep

we hate talking with friends

We dream, a silence we keep

waiting ’til class ends.

People stare and they yell

they throw things and they cuss

That’s when we say “go to Hell.”

and they’re losers not us.

November 6, 2000 (age 17)


I feel like I need to explain this poem

I was a senior when I wrote this.  I was fed up with high school by this point.  I did not like my situation in Texas where I had lived for roughly two years.  I was one of maybe 5 white kids in my school.  I felt completely out of place.  People pointed out my accent as if it was a flaw.  They thought it was strange I carried a book to read.  They thought it was weird I didn’t run in the rain (it’s Texas, the rain is usually warm and short lived).  No one understood why I always wore long sleeves– turns out I’m always cold because I’m some sort of anemic[?].  I was singled out for preferring the shadows over the spotlights.  I always preferred the term loner but I guess now that I’m an adult it’s called introvert.1011059_10202024181439601_895200291710289162_n

  To everyone in school I was a loser.  So this poem was my way of reminding myself that people like me are not the ones that are losers.  No one waving to me in halls, sleeping through class and still passing, skipping class to read my book in the art history section of the library and clinging to the walls of the halls to avoid getting stuck in a mob of obese teens that didn’t understand me didn’t make me a loser.  Being different and doing my best not to change for the benefit of others didn’t make me a loser.  Pointing out my differences and trying to use them to hurt me on the inside makes a person a “loser.”

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