“My Ears are Doors”
A poem by Caitlin Stafford, Grade 11 student at Summerland Secondary School in Summerland, BC (SD 67)
The band around my socks becomes too tight for my ankles.
I am being strangled by the necklaces I was late to school for taking the time to choose.
All the lights are off because the yellow fakeness of the bulb was growing.
It was staining the walls.
It was blinding me, holding my face and
screaming into it.
I can feel the grease atop my hair, and the feeling
of my teeth touching aches.
And my clothes aren’t in the right place,
someone moved a cup to look for paper on my desk.
My chest vibrates with the sickening urgency to fix it,
but my muscles freeze like glass; if I move them,
they could shatter.
My ears are doors, and they close when they want to.
Isolating me from the world and
trapping me in my own head.
I sit still screaming at myself to shut up.
Shut up.
Shut up!
Everyone be quiet!
Give my ears time to open.
I am exhausted with my senses.
I am exhausted with my thoughts.
And when I do want to think,
the boys’ childish laughs ring,
and the pencils hum,
and shirts rustle,
and chairs squeak.
My ears are too weak to manually switch
focus on a different sound.
I do not decide when the doors close.
How can I tell my friends I am angry at my ears?
I would have to apologize on behalf of them.
They are tired, so tired,
so, they closed and
they didn’t tell me.
I am in an empty space paralyzed until my eyes
realize things are moving around us.
But I am tired of the groans,
I fear that twitch of annoyance.
I am led to believe it is my fault.So I don’t make them repeat things anymore.
How can I tell my family I do not want to the join them at dinner
because my own voice drowns me in my head?
Where can I put this anger?
I sit still screaming at myself to shut up.
Shut up.
Just walk out the door.
When I do go to dinner
I must put socks on so
the floor does not attack me
And long pants so
the dog’s hot breath does not burn me,
and I draw blood trying to scratch it away.
Unless I force myself to swallow
I spit out the food.
I am giving my senses more to take in and
they hate me for it.
I retreat to the darkness of my room,
even though my stomach rumbles.
My father asks, ‘Why the long face?”;
and I cannot tell him that my hard of hearing ears are
making me feel like I am ubiquitous.
My only serene solitude is the shower.
I can rely on the water to be steady and constant and loud.
I can pick my own music, if I want any at all.
The glass shower door is my protection from the world.
The only thing that can reach me is the music.
I sing to keep my thoughts from screaming above the noise.
The shower is the only place I can control when my ears open.
They like listening to the water.
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