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.
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
Find. Find. The four-letter word.
Go out. Find.
They don’t know what I’ve found.
Absence of attractions.
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.
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
As an exception.