big as I was
I still felt the brush of crumpled paper and orange peels
bounce off my shoulders on the school bus.
Me stubbornly staring Dad’s Chevy skully
out the window
When I got up the nerve
to look back everything went blurry a swirl of pale faces
like the girls in the Carrie locker room
I’d wonder if I was just paranoid.
By High school being whispered about was a challenge
each day I’d confront them
more outrageous
Hair chopped ragged with sewing scissors
dresses made from pillowcases armholes cut
near the top by my Sponge Bob shoulders
the bottom grazing my crotch
thick thighs pushing it up
unsure how much I was actually showing
daring them
in their Izods, Levis, and shit kickers
to look
to say anything
they whispered, snickered seemed to already know
who I’d drunk fucked at the party.
Art teachers loved me
I made earrings from Barbie accessories
collaged crazy things and liked spray paint.
Other teachers grew nervous
I was too serious too fidgety
a scribble of writing on a wrinkled paper
C- at best.
On Haight Street they still whispered
the girlfriends,
hated me
I only hung around dudes
more comfortable around testosterone drinking and fighting
got my combat boots twisted behind my ears
by young punks in alleys
they laughed and whispered
but none of them
wanted to fight me.
–Cassandra Dallett