I have a cape.

It sits in a small black box.

I keep this black box in my closet.

Most of the time.

Every morning when I go to school I jam this box into my pocket.

The box stays in my pocket on the way to school in the car.

I open the car door and step out onto the sidewalk.

My fingers twitch.

Itching to pull my box out of my pocket.

I open the school doors.

My fingers rip the box out of my pocket.

I open the box and take out my cape.

I festen the cape around my shoulders.

I shove the empty box back into my pocket.

I wear my cape all morning.

I wear my cape during lunch.

I wear my cape in the afternoon.

People see my cape and are appalled.

They pull out knives and rip holes in my cape.

They tear my skin and bruise my flesh.

They don’t like my cape.

They don’t like how I smile.

With my cape clasped on my shoulders.

They don’t like the way I dance freely.

Without a care in the world.

They don’t like how I laugh.

They pull and tug at my cape.

They try to drag me down.

By the time school is over my cape is in tatters.

As I shove my books into my backpack I take off my cape.

I place my cape into my little black box.

I slip the box into my pocket and walk to the car.

I walk up the stairs to my room.

I stitch my cape back together and shove it into my closet.

It’s dinner and I’m biting my tongue.

Words of people with capes are being said.

I resist the urge to scream and shout.

I stalk off to bed.

Knowing one day I’ll be free.

People have capes.

Some wear them all the time.

Some people wear them half the time.

Some people don’t wear them at all.

I would wear my cape all the time if I could.

I have a cape and that’s okay.