I am loud at pleasant social gatherings like my mother
I am funny like my father
connecting the unconnectable quickly
sorting the words in just the right way
Sometimes I think that no one really likes them
sometimes I feel like I’m too much
like they give me attention because they feel pity for me
Sometimes I feel like a victim
and wonder why everything is happening to me
I just take it quietly and overreact in my head
Sometimes I think I’m better than others
Sometimes I feel like I have to do everything
like others depend on me too much
Sometimes I overexplain things
in fear that someone might not understand them
like it’s my duty to share everything I know
Sometimes I hug too tight
sometimes I cry quietly with the weight of everything unsaid on my shoulders
A lot of times I stand with my arms perched on my waist
I always carry a messenger bag like a mailman
because otherwise it falls down often
over my slouching shoulders
But I have a kindness towards others
that my father doesn’t have
and that my mother may have lost along the way.
I have an understanding of my shortcomings
and a willingness to work on them.
But also an innate laziness to do so
But also a fence and a way to ignore it
I have a drawer full of discarded and jagged parts
and many gaping holes within my drafty skeleton
I hope by 54 I can fill them in
not lose more bone marrow.