The Freak Who Plays For Her Heart

When the leaves turned golden and shone like no other time of the year, and the wind swirled with passion was when I was born. It was a cold morning my mother says. Frigid.

She remembers this because she thought it peculiar. She thought it odd as if the weather had been trying to tell her a secret. If only she listened.

When I was born I was a disappointment to my family. I was a thing they did not want. I was a helpless cripple that they had to constantly watch; that they had to hover over.

I grew up knowing this fact. If you're thinking it was my mind that thought this, you would be mistaken because they told me. They told me countless times, over and over, that I was a freak. That I was an abomination never meant to touch the Earth.

Those words hung in my head every day, every night like peanut butter on the roof of your mouth. Hard to get off. But not impossible.

And when I was a little girl, that fact became bigger and crueler. I was ridiculed and beaten by my classmates. I was thrown away as if I was an object. As if I was something that could be thrown away.

That was when I had to push forward. I had to push through the pain and the heartache that tried to hold me down like tangled ropes.

Now I am someone who I have always wanted to be. Me. Plain and simple. Me.

I don't bend to those who look at me funny. I don't break when they say something. And I definitely don't cry anymore.

I play, and I play.

I play until I have calluses on my fingers that bleed onto the keys that I brush over with everything I have. I play until I have nothing to say anymore.

I play for those who once looked down on me. I play for those who envy me, who feel sorry for me, and who loves me with all they have. I play for them.

My hands bleed and my heart soars when I play. I feel as if all that I have been through, all the heartache, has given me this feeling I hold so deep.

This feeling of being someone who I can look up to. Who I can see and love for what she is and, not what people say she is.

I'm not a little girl anymore. I don't get beaten and I don't get thrown away.

I make my own path. I breathe the autumn air in and I sometimes look at the stars; dreaming. Dreaming of future that I didn't think I had.

My life. My dreams. They all are finally together in harmony. In sync with the tunes of my heart.

The heart that I had found recently. The heart that I'm never letting go. The heart that tells me that I am me and not some freak.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
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