Imperative it is that my true face remain hidden.
For eternity my identity must remain a mystery.
Externally I display composure.
Internally exists a warzone.
Can I ever live without this mask?
Until I become like everyone else it seems.
My status as the odd one causes constant ridicule.
Be it my interests, mannerisms, or appearance, it’s always something.
Pointing and laughing are the only forms of acknowledgement I receive.
Apparently different is taboo.
I look forward to a day when acceptance becomes normality.
Maybe then I can take off this mask.
I may then be worth something to this world.
Until then, I must preserve this façade.