For me as a kid
It was never about fitting in.

It was about belonging
As I was.

Not like it mattered.
I moved around too much
To have more friends
Than a dog and a stuffed lion.

By the time
I was around
Long enough to have anyone
At all
I was perceivably damaged
Enough
That I didn't know how to interact,
And how to treat and be treated.

So I'm figuring it out.
I'm pretty close, I think.

But it's a weird feeling,
Finding a place where
Your abnormalities
Fit like a missing element to a painting.

Being ripped from it,
And ripping things from your
Personality and nature
To fit somewhere where you'd never belong
Anyway.
You're just not that way.
Not that catty.
Not that fake.

And when they reveal the horrible,
Razor-laden truth to you,
You sit there bleeding,
And ever so
Softly
You are approached by quiet footsteps.

You breathe in and smell the forest.
You breathe out and feel soft feathers.
And ever so gently
You are enveloped in a new type of kindness,
A new type of love.
Something real and refreshing,
But familiar.
But instead of being the missing element of the painting like before,
You're a missing instrument in a song.
The missing metaphor
From the poem,
That connects all the symbolism,
So the imagery is just right.

And finally,
Flying by your side,
Within your arms,
The fire in your eyes,
And the light of your smile,
I am home.