I wrote the following poem on April 19, 2017 (which is why it’s titled Dear Interrogation (April 19, 2017)).
That was a stupid day. It’s amazing how people think just because you’re quiet you have problems, even if you don’t, or at least not to the magnitude they thought.
Strange are the paradoxes in dealing with conflict: There are dangers to ignoring it and being in denial. There are dangers to calling out someone for not being okay and embarrassing them (and yourself) because you didn’t know the whole story or you knew a distorted version.
And with that, I give you, Dear Interrogation (April 19, 2017):
Dear Interrogation,
So stop the evaluation, interrogation and let’s begin intimidation,
As I intimidate you to look down upon me.
May not make sense,
But you have to see where you are.
You may think that I am unhappy, and not free,
But you are paying for oxygen up in the clouds,
While I breathe down on the ground for free.
I do not nee to be extraordinary, but I am not ordinary,
I am unique.
Sweetheart, would you like me to lie and say,
what is not there, so you may pretend you tossed it away,
saved the day, and get a gold medal for being so brave.
Darling, perhaps you would like me to tell the truth of even what I cannot say,
and be offered silence, as even all I know is not what I know,
but something deeper that I have yet to discover.
Or maybe, baby, you would like exactly what happened,
what is what, and every moment of time that I know happened for sure.
You are selfish, you are unkind,
There are my evaluations of you,
Only at first sight.
How do you like it?
You may think you know best for me,
But, baby, you are not me,
I am me,
And only I gets to decide what is best for me.
So stop questions which will lead nowhere.
Stop making assumptions which aren’t fair.
And start thinking.
Thinking not once or twice,
But faster than the heart,
Lightyears of thoughts at a time.
Realise that you must think of feelings,
Think of how I felt,
Think of how I feel.
This is not a warning,
This is not a pleading,
This is me saying,
Baby, I am me and I can feel.
Just because,
I am mysterious and curious,
And yet silence,
Does not mean secrets.
It means I want to know how everyone feels,
I want to understand and place limitations on my expectations,
Think about the million times I have not said I cannot understand you.
Because I do not ask questions, I think about how you feel,
I know exactly how you feel.
Yet, no one seems to be able to think like me,
Thus they cannot understand me.
They think that I am a puzzle that has yet to be put together,
They do not realise that I broke myself apart to see
Who would know me and find me.
Upside down and inside out, it turned out, no one did.
So I decided to come out of hiding, show my true self,
Throw away the defining, find a meaning, and say,
This is me, and you are truly a disappointment,
Not me.
