Something in my brain
I am told
is broken, dysfunctional. It leaves me inept
when left to deal with language unspoken,
the intricacies of smiles,
the unclear line between malice and mirth.
It may have been the shot
given by the doctor
meant to protect but somehow doing harm,
the Hippocratic oath.
Or so say my parents, their organization,
so they may be exonerated.
They liken me to
Ted Bundy, H. H. Holmes,
and Einstein. Because a sometimes-flat
and it makes people uncomfortable.
Especially when it is not maintained.
At times I am too broken to understand
and sometimes I am not broken enough
because my pu