I try to blink away
Mr. Dell’s scowling face
and his angry words
because I don’t want to let him
make me cry.
Is it me that makes people here act so chilly?
Or is it my family?
We are American,
we speak English, we eat pizza
and pot roast,
and potatoes sometimes.
I feel like I have to be
twice as smart and funny at school,
and twice as nice and forgiving in my neighborhood
than everyone else
to be acceptable.
But everyone else can be
only half of that
to fit in.
Sad thoughts
just make you sadder if you let them.
I’m too sad now to stop them from taking me
with them.
I can’t blink fast enough,
and when I press my face against the cold pane,
my tears turn to crystals.