A round peg surrounded by square holes,
Fitting in each hole but never quite filling it.
An almost match but never quite the same.
Where do I fit in?
Playing a drum in a string quartet,
An instrument meant for a different song.
I’ve been marching to a different beat all my life.
How do I fit in?
Painting with words and sculpting with yarn,
Needles, hooks, and looms used to create my gifts.
Following patterns does not make real talent.
Why don’t I fit in?
Waiting to hear magic words from those, I love,
Thank you, I appreciate you, I love you.
To hear those words I must say them first.
When will I fit in?
Weird is no longer my word, I am now unique,
Normal will never be my claim in life.
There’s no way they’ll ever understand me.
I don’t want to fit in.
