monachopsis: the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted.
I’ve been living on the outside looking in,
Never quite feeling like I belong.
How can I feel comfortable in my own skin
When I feel like my own skin is wrong?
I see the world through different eyes
Than everyone else around me.
It never takes long for folks to realize
That a cloak of weirdness surrounds me.
It’s not that I’ve never been invited
To come in and partake of the fun.
But it’s soon obvious everyone else is united,
While I stand apart, a party of one.
I don’t like what they like; I do my own thing,
When I do, then the whispers begin.
I want so much to belong, but I’m left with the sting
Of playing a game I know I can’t win.
You see, I’ve lived so long in the fringes,
And I know they think I’m somewhat askew.
When I share my thoughts, my likes, everyone cringes,
And I know there’s just one thing I can do…