Posted in Poetry, Teaching

Underneath

I spent the weekend grading my students’ journals, and it made me want to post this poem, which was published in Encore: Prize Poems of the NFSPS in 2015.

Underneath

I straightened the mirror a couple of times,
     so I have OCD,
then got distracted by a dog,
     so you added ADD.
I washed my hands after your high-five,
     so I’m a hypochondriac,
and when I frowned in the crowded mall,
     you said, “Don’t have a panic attack.”
I didn’t cry in Titanic or Bambi,
     so you think I’m a freak,
but I’ve seen Star Wars a hundred times,
     so I must be a geek.
I got 2300 on my SAT,
     so now I’m also a nerd.
Then I tensed when you gave me a hug,
     so you say I have Asperger’s.
It’s hard to live with so many labels—
     you have a name for each of my moods.
Despite how much you think you know,
     there’s something you forget to include.
While you catalogue each sign and symptom,
     trying out every disease,
underneath those acronyms,
     is a person, and that person is me.

© Carie Juettner

Author:

Carie Juettner is a middle school teacher and the author of The Ghostly Tales of New England and The Ghostly Tales of Austin in the Spooky America series by Arcadia Publishing. Her poems and short stories have appeared in publications such as Ember: A Journal of Luminous Things, the Texas Poetry Calendar, and Daily Science Fiction. Carie lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband and pets. She was born on Halloween, and her favorite color is purple.

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