I am the child that looks healthy and fine. I was born with ten fingers and toes. But something is different, somewhere in my mind, and what it is nobody knows.

I am the child that struggles in school, though they say that I’m perfectly smart. They tell me I’m lazy, I can learn if I try, but I don’t seem to know where to start.

I am the child that won’t wear the clothes which hurt me or bother my feet. I dread sudden noises, can’t handle most smells, and tastes, there are few foods that I’ll eat.

I am the child that can’t catch the ball and runs with an awkward gait. I am the one chosen last on the team and cringe as I stand there and wait.

I am the child with whom no one will play, the one that gets bullied and teased. I try to fit in and I want to be liked, but nothing I do seems to please.

I am the child that tantrums and freaks over things that seem petty and trite. You’ll never know how I panic inside, when I’m lost in my anger and fright.

I am the child that fidgets and squirms though I am told to sit still and be good. Do you think that I choose to be out of control?

I am the child with the broken heart though I act like I don’t care.

I am the child that needs to be loved and accepted and valued too.

I am the child that is misunderstood. I am different but look just like you.