by Jenny Morelli
I was never an alpha
or even a beta, was born
a gamma with little choice, with small voice
an under-the-radar hand-me-down kid. A series of symbols
on a wall
became my first enemy, ratting me out
for my defective eyes
in the dark room of the doctor’s office
spelling my truth
all blurry and apathetic
indifferent and bored and brutally honest.
Those symbols
became my first friend,
the first thing I noticed
in that overbright, overcolorful
overloud room meant to be
welcoming, exciting, energetic
three things that terrify a hypersensitive
introvert. I stared
at those symbols on the wall, those
small and large shapes
during class, during lunch, during recess,
studied them
to avoid talk of any kind
small or large
with my indifferent, apathetic peers
who looked at me strange, who
outcast me upon sight
for my defective vision, framed
as an announcement
for the cruelest and meanest.
All of the feelings
between me and them
remained hidden
behind my glasses, behind
clenched fists and swallowed sobs, hidden
deep down
for safe-keeping, for self-
preservation. I would’ve said no anyway
to their silly little games.
They were not for me
once I discovered
the writing on the wall
the letters in those symbols, the words
in those letters. The worlds
in those words. It didn’t matter anymore
that no one looked at me
because right symbols
became my stories
my salvation and survival
my selfness.
They became my way to communicate
to connect.
It’s my language
my tether, my lifeline, and now,
you can bet I’m an Alpha
and with words
I roar.
***
Jenny Morelli is a high school English teacher who lives in New Jersey with her husband and cat. She is often either inspired by her students or else they're triggering memories in her of when she was young and struggling with her self-confidence. She has been published in a number of literary magazines, including Spare Parts for a novel excerpt, Spillwords for several themed poems, and Bottlecap Press for her own chapbook This is Not a Drill.
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