They Told Me

They told me that everything will be ok,
the moment I stepped outside the car and
walked towards those glass-covered doors.
Who would have thought that I'd go home
sore all over, losing composure, and breaking down
faster than the abandoned car I saw down the road?
Every weekend was the same - wake up one Saturday,
wonder if there are any clothes that don't stand out,
and head into the car with my thoughts somewhere else:
in the clouds, with the rain, and no one to feign interest.
It was safe, in a way.
My parents paved the way down to the pews that
weren't too far from the exit, but weren't so far from the front
that we couldn't listen to the preacher man preach.
But my thoughts were elsewhere...
When the potluck came around, my friends and I
would go to the back of the church, right behind the spot
where the preacher man would preach.
I didn't mind.
But I began to realize that the other kids,
the more popular kids,
were elsewhere...
They had the long tables, that could seat ten, twelve people.
They had suits that shined like the sun,
and dresses that reflected the moon.
Soon, I looked around, where my friends and I were:
the heater that periodically stops working,
the chairs we'd scrounge up just to find a place to sit,
the lack of space.
And we were different.
But it didn't stop there.
I began to notice that the number of friends... dwindled.
Like the number of times I'd speak up in class,
all while the rest of the class felt it their necessary task
to snicker and laugh at the "nerd" who decided to talk up that day.
So my friends could be counted on one hand -
I told myself, "that's fine, I can handle it".
But as time passed, I found out that it wasn't the case.
And yet, they told me that everything will be ok...
They told me that, even while at school,
I would find my notebooks and papers
falling to the ground faster than gravity
could even push it.
Then I'd go home and say "it's ok" later.
They told me that everything will be ok,
even though I've grown to loathe
trying to interact even with the kindest souls.
Because the only thing running at the back of my mind
was: "what, they want to use me again? This time? No!".
I just couldn't let go...
And what happened at school
reflected in the church.
When the preacher man preach,
does his words heal the hurt?
I couldn't tell that time, but I still held my side of the line -
I wasn't about to sever what faith I had left this time.
All that, and you'd think I'd have been gone.
But here I am, ok all along...