Apart

There has always been apart of me that has felt different from my family and from most of society. This poem captures that.

I am
part of a family
and yet separate
like a pen
amidst a bunch of sharpened pencils.

I write my own life
but I want to be
made of the same material.
The difference for me is painfully real.
Can I still belong
even though I write with a different color?

My scratchings may seem duller
as compared to the rest
That is just camouflage.
A mirage I have built
out of a layer of protection.
This is my confession
to say that I am still here
beneath the layers of fear.

I will write the colors of my life
despite the strife
that threatens to engulf me
in one bite.