Bitter Roots

No makeup, no hairdo,

            just glasses & unmanageable

curly hair.  “My, you look sickly,”

            classmates sneer & giggle, think

they’re funny, yeah, a real hoot.

Go home & watch Friends

            like all the other white, teenage girls.

They’re all so perfect, with their ideal

            hair, teeth, smiles –

never mistaken for anyone else,

            no plain girl in the group.

Teacher stares at us in class,

            confused look in her sagging eyes,

“I’m trying to figure out

            which one is Judith, which one Beth?”

Crazy old hag, can’t you tell we’re different?

            Two separate people, not even related!

“Joyce, do you know the answer?”

            Teacher down the hall later asks.

I refuse to answer.  “Do you?”

            Still sitting, glaring at him

behind my glasses, my disguise.

            My name isn’t Joyce, you crazy

old man & it’s about time

everyone recognizes who I am.

            Just another pale, skinny girl

ferociously seeking recognition

            like a vampire seeking blood.

No more little good girl,

            no more forgetting my name.

I am a person, too.   And my name

            sure as hell ain’t Joyce.