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I walk into rooms that buzz like storms,
Giggling spilling, voices warm,
And however I stand, a noiseless tune,
Feeling profoundly — I do not belong.
Not within the way they move or speak,
Not within the surge, not within the smooth
Gleam of fitting in fair right —
I flash dim where they sparkle shinning.
I grin, I gesture, I play the portion,
But continuously with a overwhelming heart.
I coast through minutes, half-awake,
Wishing I could fake what's fake.
They conversation of things I don't feel,
Of shallow thrills that never recuperate.
I pine for a profundity they never look for,
A dialect talked soul to cheek.
And so I float — not out of pride,
But from the hurt I hold interior.
To feel so much, to see so clear,
And still not discover a put true.
But perhaps this can be not lose hope —
Not oust, in spite of the fact that it feels out of line.
Maybe I'm not lost at all,
But holding up for my kind to call.
The ones who breathe with hearts unmasked,
Who see through quiet when they're inquired.
The ones who sit in sacrosanct space,
Who know that stillness has its put.
I do not have a place in shallow oceans,
In noisy rooms or hearts on rent.
I'm built for skies and more profound streams,
For calm truths and waking dreams.
So let me not imagine to twist,
Or chase endorsement fair to mix.
Let me be what I've continuously been —
A voice that holds up for truth to start.
One day I'll discover that sacrosanct assembly,
Where I am entirety, where I am solid.
And I will say, with open melody,
"I never fit — since I have a place."