pink wired girl

AngelofIndifference

…I’m 13 again
I see the pink sweat suit and the food in my mother’s cart
I am in the brain doctor’s office
No I am back in the super market and people are staring at me

It’s all for my own good
I know the chords coming from under my curls are not
Invisible, I can’t blame them for looking at me this way
I see pity, curiosity, and fear
This pink sweat suit hand-me-down is the proudest shield I have

An octopus of chords, no it’s
A bowl of spaghetti wires coming from my brain
A lie to laugh at myself
A familiar wash of dizziness and I
Push the button on my hip

”we have to know why this happens” Mother says
...“we have to buy groceries”
No one hears this
Everyone sees the pink,
wired,
girl.

burtschips

I like the 'oddball' melancholy.... have you ever read an illustrated book by Tim Burton? it's called the oyster boy or something similar but it has quite tragic and melancholly tales commenting on societies perceptions and general cruelty at times..... your poem has a similar base to it for me.