Underdog

Like a speck of dust,

like a tick on a dog’s belly,

I go unnoticed—the price

I pay as a small girl

in a big world. I’ve been

tossed aside and told,

“You’re too small, too weak,

too quiet, too meek.

You’ll never make it out there.”

For a while, I listened.

Cried myself to sleep

thinking these voices—

both real and mental—

were right. But then I

realized they were all lies.

And I began to speak.

But on the day when

I have something to say,

I’m too sarcastic, too sassy,

told to “Stop being smart.”

Minutes ago, you thought

I was a deaf mute because I

don’t always know what to say.

Now, I’m too smart for you?

I don’t think so.

I have learned to be

my own encouragement

and to tell myself this:

I am brilliant, intelligent,

independent, resilient,

beautiful, phenomenal,

silly, sassy, classy,

poetic, unapologetic, unique.

All compacted into this small body

that is constantly critiqued.

And there is no one else like me.