Work Text:
I pulled a string out my pillowcase and realized my class
The pillowcase with it's low thread count
Covering the ratty pillow I've had for years
In the room I share with others
Till I forgot how it feels to live alone
The upper class
Those with money and multiple homes
Don't worry about the string the their pillowcases
For they have so many, one would never be worn down
They wouldn't let it get to that point
It wouldn't be representative of their image
So they change their style of sheets
Depending on their mood
And seasons
Because they have the ability to do so
It was the pillowcase that made me realize my station
Not the lack of sleepovers
Not the covered holes in the walls
Not the start of every month when I feel normal
It was the pillowcase with it's low thread count
Covering the ratty pillow I've had for years
I sit with the thread in hand
Trace the spot where you can clearly see the missing stitch
It highlights it's mismatched bed sheet
And different patterened blanket for me
More than it would for any middle class
Because so what their pillowcase is missing a stitch
You wouldn't notice it past their matching bed sheets
In a room that's just theirs'
Where the sun shines through the windows just right
The pillowcase and it's missing thread
Would be no new sight to most
But it means something to others like me
Those with a pillowcase with a low thread count
Covering the ratty pillow they've had for years
The sight of the pillow
Felt like too much to see
Too old
So they covered it to have a semblence of normalcy
Then that too wilts in quality
They'll sit in their multiple purpose room
Meant for one thing but suddenly means more
And realize their class
And it'll stick with them
Through discussions they want to ignore
To school
Classmates
Home
Neighbors
And they'll feel different
Knowing they aren't the only one
But seeing everyone else live fine
Is it just them?
Is the quality of their pillow just because of them
And not relating to their class?
You can't ignore your stature once you realize it
Even ignorance has a point
I sit with the knowledge
Feeling like I can't change it
Hearing those upstairs
And feel left out of a home I should be apart of
I hear the cycle will always continue
That there's no point in fighting
And I feel it too
I want to stop trying
I'll look at the pillowcase with its low thread count
Covering the ratty pillow I've had for years
And I'll feel shame that'll carry on
That negativity and fear
I'll hope to be more than my class
And how it appears