I usually say that “I have problems;”
It’s always too much or too little of something,
Or doing it at the wrong time —
Sleeping, waking, eating, fasting, laughing, crying,
Working, playing — Or (on the Void Days)
Simply feeling and doing absolutely nothing at all.
People always say that I have problems.
They mock, or hate, or pity, or sympathize;
I’ve paid people to tell me what’s wrong with me
I’ve tried religions and chemicals to make it right
To feel like I fit.
But I don’t.
I don’t fit jobs and bosses
I don’t fit therapists and gurus
I don’t fit family and lovers
I don’t fit professors and preachers
I don’t fit the neat little ideological boxes
I agree with everyone and nobody at the same time.
Maybe I don’t have all the problems.
Maybe it’s not just me but the world that’s broken.
Maybe I am not shaped like this world
In the same way that this world is not shaped like me.
And maybe that’s not such a bad thing —
Discomfort is comforting because it means
I am not shaped like this world.
Image: Cute Astronaut by Galacticus/Shutterstock. Used under license.
Nearly Clever 