Abigail, the American (to my teachers)

To you all-
I am insignificant;
Peripheral,
Put simply- irrelevant.

Because I am me,
Just:
Abigail, the American.

For ten lengthy years,
I have tried,
With tears and grit,
To brush this accent from my lips.
To rid myself of this;

The accent that you find confusing.
The accent that you find,
Extremely amusing.

You bury me in mockery,
To exhume,
My shattered skeleton.
Your punchline,
Is your medicine;
Abigail, the American.

I would escape to New York, If I could.

Perhaps, then-
I would have a chance,
At being somewhat,
Understood.

My teachers,
And my classmates,
Have deemed me unintelligent.
To my struggle? Irreverence.
Just:
Abigail, the American.

To the surprise,
And dismay of you all-
I stood tall,
At my own graduation.

An American sensation.
Due to,
The same American-ness,
That had brought me,
A decade of damnation.

Now,
You stand knee deep,
In your backyard pool,
Of self congratulation.

I was convinced it was me,
For a fortnight, or two.
That I was the problem-
But really,
It was you.

Signed,
The girl you called irrelevant;
Abigail, the American.