Poetry

Stranger

Mum, they made fun of my accent.

I studied the language, the words

The poetry and the songs

But just because I know them doesn't mean I'm like them.

I tried though, not to forget who I am

But to smooth the edges

To fit in what I thought was their mould.

I went and made myself dizzy.

I spun that wheel faster and faster

Until I couldn't stand.

I brought all the pieces back

Only to find that I might have shared the same glass

A lifetime ago

But it wasn't my drink anymore.

The same insults, slurs, yells,

On each side.

People on each side too, loved or hated.

Not many who saw, even less who understood.

So I just dropped the pieces on the ground and sat down.

I'm tired, and why bother when they don't fit anyway?