A Scantron

I read a paper that is stamped with my name. Looking at the faces and they all blur, the same. They think they can read what goes on in my head. Waking up next to the dead and I lay my broken heart down in a flowered bed. But these places that my mind travels to, these places that I wish no one knew. Places where I bury my face. Calling me a disgrace. Because of the many mistakes I have made. Think I’m crying wolf but I cry in vain.

Hold out my hands for a standing ovation. Wondering if they know I saw their presentation. A man, broken like me. A man voicing his fears to the sea. A man, a human, just like me. But only a woman they see. Or maybe they see a girl in woman’s clothing. And when they read this, they keep scrolling. Answers are all around. On the TV, in the alarming times of a sound. And I won’t wear a perpetual frown.

Symphony seems a silly word. A synonym for phony, without lyrics how can you get to know me? A sound so beautiful it flows right through me. Like sex on a wooden floor. Feel the beat in my heels and it makes me want more. With every smash of a gong, every pull on a violin string, a cello, a piano, a xylophone and other sounds that to some may be unknown. Look at you from below and above. Two perspectives or maybe none of the above. A scantron test and still, I don’t know what you are thinking of.

  • Vanessa Vallozzi
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