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Wrong
I feel my skin, my crawling flesh,
A smell so sweet, a touch too soft,
A hand too meagre, a foot too delicate,
A pain deep within, a fire inside,
But hollow and empty, drained to the core.
My heart is wrenching, falling apart,
Cheekbones to bright, a jaw not square,
A voice too sharp, the sound of despair,
Being pulled in all directions, waning to die,
My bones in the wrong order, body curved not flat,
The agony on my chest, the grimace between my legs.
Not being seen right, trying to scream,
Breaking my heart, as they look away,
No attraction, not even existing,
I am one of them, as if they care,
My dominance succumbs me, but my lack of tools declare.
My need screeching, my rejection answering,
Dreaming of pressing our bodies together, mine fitting wrong,
Our hands as one, a connection denied,
A life out of touch, a soul locked away,
Being unwanted, ignored even hated,
Being born in the wrong body, being told not to live.
