Iced Out - by Temilayo A.

I stand in a room,

Hands intertwined with those around me,

They welcome me, smile vividly,

Yet their hands are cold to the touch.

I feel their eyes on me,

Judgement seeping out,

I know they’re trying to accept me,

Yet they can’t accept what they fail to understand.

When their eyes meet mine, all they can see is the reflection,

The saudade, melancholy,

The mania, euphoria,

The blend of dual emotions I’ve become,

They don’t understand, nor do they want to.

I’m a mystery in their eyes,

An unknown explosive,

They take care of it from a distance, as they don’t want it blown up on them.

They won’t take the time to learn it, figure out how to disarm it,

They’ll pat, wrap it warm, put a band aid atop,

Never truly discussing the issue.

I’m an alien on a planet too dangerous to discover,

A life-form they’ll study and use for technological advancements,

They neglect to see the real me,

The person behind the disorder.

I coexist in a strange universe,

I am both red and blue, personified.

I’m depicted as the trail of dust you can never fully collect,

Shoved into a corner, like a dirty secret,

Your stigma shows all too well.

As I stand in this room,

Eyes full of hope, yours full of fear and pity,

I’ll rise above it, I’ll speak on the topic,

Because the state of my disorder is part of my life now,

It’s no different than drinking a glass of water,

So speak on it.