Since the age of 4,
I’ve wanted nothing more
Than to heal, and feel
Like I belong, therefore
I struggle and try
Pretend not to cry
While you laugh and laugh
Elated to simply standby.
I plead and seek your aid,
Instead of help, you evade
All I ask of you, is for you to do
The job for which you are paid.
My blunder I can’t ascertain
My fellows you guide time and again
Until, I yet see, that the error is me
Teaching me is from what you refrain.
But the real problem here,
Is that I can’t be clear,
Of this skin I was born in,
It doesn’t exist—a veneer.
On the ground I must lay,
Your knee crushing my airway,
While to me you tell, that all is swell,
My lips blue, no air left to say
That since I was 4,
I’ve wanted nothing more
Than to heal, and feel
Like I belong, therefore
Though scared I may seem,
And left no self-esteem
I continue to fight, for it is my right
To keep pursuing my dream.
How it feels when teachers refuse to help you because of a characteristic or feature or part of you that you were born with.
