peculiar

 
my sorrow stretches her span
explaining herself in inflections
rising inside me in peaks
my sadness speaks a different language
it is that of feelings not expressed

a feeling of heaviness I don't get
there is a strangeness about me
I can't really define
I just look at others and know it isn't present in them
a darkness that wraps around me
affecting how others perceive me
I guess its always been there

a lingering presence that has hands
it takes shape and others step back
I don't call to it its just there
it defends me if it feels I'm threatened
to my dismay I don't request its help

it isn't exactly sinister but off putting
a strangeness that leaves me out
it hurts a lot and I'd rather be writing about something else
but this feeling is pressing down on me
and I quite often feel left out

a peculiar girl with a kind heart
going along oddly in life
somewhere on the periphery of what is normal
with a heaviness of being that isn't understood