Deedle deedle queep

I grew up in a small town, persistently bullied. When I got to Guilford College I made friends there who understood me and accepted me. But I still struggled processing social situations; and of course, as one does anywhere, sometimes I still ran into people who didn’t get me or looked at me negatively. Looking at this poem I wrote in February 2004 about halfway through my first year of college, I think this must have been some of what I was thinking about.


i’d rather go to a small town and drown in it
than forget how to handle it when it does happen
and honey, it happens everywhere.

rude glares and rules changed just in time,
stares of ejection and get the hell out of here.

but who knows if it’s fabrication,
and who knows why it seems so real?

i just want somewhere to sit,
communicating without vocal strain,
but conveying more than i think is there.

because even if it is all deedle deedle queep,
i still don’t want to talk about the weather.

i want to feel some kind of warmth,
and not just from the maddening sun.

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