Poem for 7/5/22 - "Portrait of the poet as a young nerd" by Marge Piercy

Portrait of the poet as a young nerd

by Marge Piercy

At fourteen, at seventeen, at twenty-two

I chased myself through books.

I slipped into bodies of actresses,

mimicked their gestures, tried their smiles,

tilt of head, thrust of hip.

I could not find myself in any mirror.

I was not what I was supposed to be.

I did not look like anyone I saw.

My thoughts were weird as the monsters

superheroes killed in comic books.

As a girl I was a failure. I could

pick a lock but could not flirt.

Sports seemed pointless. Words

came easily, too easily, blabbing

me into tar pits of trouble.

I did not want to be a boy. Most

of them were imbeciles, I thought,

nor did I want to be a girl or woman.

Maybe I would grow up to be a cat.

Maybe I was an alien, a changeling.

I watched myself for extra powers

the ability to read minds, to leap

tall buildings, to look through walls

but found only a balky intelligence

and that slippery passion for words:

words talking in my head, words

building palaces along rusting

tracks of the Detroit Terminal Railroad.

Words had broader wings than pigeons,

bore the beaks and claws of eagles.