Left behind, always
On the back foot
Running
Out of sync
Outside looking
In, disjointed
Clumsy and never
Sure of my place
Bending, breaking
Molding myself into
Something palatable
Something acceptable
Something other than
Myself, to please those
Whose disdain
And confusion and
Frustration with
Who I am
Cuts deeper
Than any barbed
Tongue I host
In my own mouth