Her Kind of People

At school she sat alone at lunchtimes

while the popular girls huddled together

over their cauldron. Sometimes a lovesick boy

would sit by her side in the classroom. Sweet

but childish. He once bought her a rosebud

on Valentine’s Day. His kindness made her smile.

They called her ‘ugly,’ ‘mute,’ avoided her

at playtime till she made herself a cave

on a corner of the sofa. She lined it with a fleece

and wore her nightdress six weeks at a time

too weak to shed her skin. What fools they were!

She’s found her kind of people now. The artists,

the dreamers and the ones who love to sense

the soft air on their skins, the lovers of the

earth and all its creatures, of eastern mysticism

and the mysteries of the mind. She knows

that she is beautiful, spectacular and wise

and that those who once disdained her

have shrivelled, stunted souls.

First published in Reach Poetry




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