Poem-A-Week
Atypical
by Elizabeth Sigmon
Maybe everyone knows,
maybe everyone has always known
about the ache you feel
from the stares of children
as you stood in the corner
playing ball with the wall
and the wall kept winning.
It will remain long after you’ve left
those haunted fluorescent halls
that smirked at you every weekday morning
as you run into the wall for the fifteenth time
while your head was in the clouds
your eyes glued to your feet.
You leave that place behind,
lock it in a dark closet inside your mind
you hope you’ll never be able to find
so you will never have to feel that ache again.
But you do every time a friend
notices your floppy hands for the first time,
your impulse to touch everything in sight,
concrete textured walls and their holes
that beam so bright
and how you can never walk in a straight line.
The ache comes back to remind you
that there are some things
you simply can’t outgrow.
Elizabeth Sigmon (she/her) is a poet originally from Atlanta, Georgia. She is a senior at Young Harris College (’22), where she is obtaining her B.A. in Creative Writing and a minor in music. She is currently the Editor-in-Chief for the student literary magazine, Artemas and has previously been published in local publications such as Peachtree Corners Life magazine. She is currently working to finish her degree with ambitions to go to graduate school to complete her Masters in Creative Writing.