Exceptional

All of my life, I’ve been told I’m too different.

That I can’t expect others to understand.

Most kids don’t talk like I do.

Most kids don’t feel the passion I feel.

Most kids wouldn’t think to fear all I fear.

Most girls grow up to find a boy.

Most girls want to marry and mother.

They don’t think like I do.

They don’t perceive the world like me.


Most people fit the norm

Most make the mold

Feel like second skin

Maybe if I were more like them…

It’s not true. It’s not universal.

What about me? Surely I’m proof…

That’s different, they say.

People are just like that.

Not me.

But I am told I can’t expect anyone to hear me

Because others aren’t like me

I am not this

I say in protest.


“Well, MOST people are.”

“You can’t expect…”

I’m the exception

They say it like a good thing

They even call it a gift.


If I’ve been gifted

Why do I sit here alone

If it’s privilege 

then why does it feel

Like exclusion.


Find. Find. The four-letter word.

Go out. Find.

They don’t know what I’ve found.

Exceptionalism.

Exceeds expectations.

Absence of attractions. 

No distractions.


I’m the queen of my crystal castle

But I would rather wreck these walls.

Except that I’m exceptional.

I can’t expect to be seen

To be included

To be accepted.

Too much

Too little

Too me

Outside the norm.

It would be unrealistic

To find someone who understands.

Asking beyond what the world can offer.

To me and those like me

(I know they exist out there).

There are times we almost feel human

Times when we forget we don’t belong

And then we are indignant

And swiftly reminded

We are alien

And we can’t expect

To fit in

To belong

As an exception.