I don’t fit inside my skin.
I’ll cut it open to let you in.
Underneath, the vacuum lies,
Like those behind these hollow eyes.
I seem to get stuck into the routine.
Neither A nor B: I’m half way between.
I seem to get lost inside my cage:
No way to express; the net of rage.
I don’t fit in anywhere.
That’s too bad, but life’s unfair.
Right behind the words I say
There’s a child that lost its way.
I seem to get stuck into the routine.
Not that it helps: I’m still not clean.
I seem to get lost inside my shell.
Without a soul there’s nothing left to sell.
I don’t fit; I don’t belong.
I wish someone could prove me wrong,
But everyone to try has failed.
To this cross of pain I’m nailed.
I seem to get stuck into the routine.
Never myself, no matter who I’ve been.
I seem to get lost inside this skin.
I cut to size, but I still can’t fit in.
Author notes
This poem hints at a lot of issues that I was trying to work on at the time. I don't see myself as having a properly defined identity (I see my identity as existential: there is no essence of what it is to be me, I am indeterminate), even when it comes to my gender identity. When I was younger I considered undergoing a sex change as I didn't feel like I identified with the female gender but after some reflection realised that I would never be able to belong as a male either. At the time, I was also undergoing a diagnostic process to determine whether I have Asperger's syndrome (a form of autism)/ OCD but felt that, although I didn't fit in with neurotypical ('normal') people, I had characteristics that made me stand out from people with either diagnosis as well. Another example of logic failing to compensate when intuition is lacking. (I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome in the end).
Comments
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this is one of my favorite that i read here, its really good and i can relate so much in it.
keep it up.
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