Am I Wrong to be Me?

You look at me weird, like I'm barely here.
This freak among freaks, no one will draw,
What do you see that drives you away?
You like my eyes and my looks, so why don't you stay?

You say that I'm nice, and fun to be around,
But why don't you see, nor make even a sound?
My pain is real, though the emotions are weak,
You nearly seem shocked every time I do speak.

Yes, I don't feel, not like the rest.
But I still have something, I do try my best.
So what if I don't get stressed and angry like you?
Why must that mean there is more I should do?

There is nothing wrong with subdued emotion,
I much prefer it to drowning in the ocean.
You get overwhelmed and panic about fluff,
You worry and fear, you sweat the small stuff.

While I sit back and let life on by,
I chat is it goes, I often say Hi.
Yet I don't freak out, nor do I cry, 
Though if I am honest, I'll admit I do try.

Try to cry? Now why would you do that?
Because I am taught I am wrong to wear my own hat,
That I am wrong not to feel as them all,
That I am not wanted, so instead I sit by the wall.

Though I'm still to conform, to let myself be used.
But I don't mind helping the battered and bruised,
Because they know what it's like to not fit in,
To feel like the world has tossed you to the bin.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed