tinplatedhero

A while back I decided to experiment with Whitman's form, and I ended up with this poem. Many times I refer to myself as an alien, and at times I even joke about it. However, when I wrote this, it certainly wasn't something I would joke about. Nor do I really now. This still is how I feel most of the time, but I just keep it well under wraps.

I certainly don't think this is one of my best pieces of work, but it is one of the more telling.

alien

There are times, when I find myself an alien in this society.
I feel as though there is nothing I can do to fit in.
It's an impossibility for me to conform in ways that I don't understand.

Some have said that I seem uncomfortable in my own skin,
but it's more that I feel uncomfortable with the synapses
that fire within my brain and the impulses within my mind.

Some have said they wish to understand me, when I can't even understand myself.
Perhaps I wasn't meant to mesh with society.
Perhaps I was meant to stand out.
Perhaps I was meant to feel this way.
Perhaps I was meant to feel naked in front of the rest of the world.

Perhaps I should just shut up and seek to conform.

If you feel that you know exactly what I am talking about, you don't.
If you feel as though I'm saying something you understand, you probably wouldn't.
If your mind is empty and you can't think for the screaming in your head,
If your eyes are closed and their sight is piercing your flesh,

If... I could only find the words that worked.
If... I could just speak and have it be understood.

Too many If's.
Too many Perhaps'.

I wish I could conform sometimes.
I wish my skin felt comfortable.
I wish my mind would be quiet.