I was born with ten fingers and toes.
But something is different, somewhere in my mind,
And what it is, nobody knows.
Though they say that I’m perfectly smart.
They tell me I’m lazy — can learn if I try —
But I don’t seem to know where to start.
Which hurt me or bother my feet.
I dread sudden noises, can’t handle most smells,
And tastes — there are few foods I’ll eat.
And runs with an awkward gait.
I am the one chosen last on the team
And I cringe as I stand there and wait.
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.
Over things that seem petty and trite.
You’ll never know how I panic inside,
When I’m lost in my anger and fright.
Though I’m told to sit still and be good.
Do you think that I choose to be out of control?
Don’t you know that I would if I could?
Though I act like I don’t really care.
Perhaps there’s a reason God made me this way —
Some message he sent me to share.
And accepted and valued too.
I am the child that is misunderstood.
I am different – but look just like you.