by Kathy Winters

 I am the child that looks healthy and fine.

 I was born with ten fingers and toes.

 

But something is different, somewhere in my mind,

 And what it is, nobody knows.

 I am the child that struggles in school,

 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.

 I am the child that won’t wear the clothes

 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.

 I am the child that can’t catch the ball

 And runs with an awkward gait.

 I am the one chosen last on the team

 And I cringe as I stand there and wait.

 I am the child with whom no one will play —

 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.

 I am the child that tantrums and freaks

 Over things that seem petty and trite.

 You’ll never know how I panic inside,

 When I’m lost in my anger and fright.

 I am the child that fidgets and squirms

 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?

 I am the child with the broken heart

 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.

 For I am the child that needs to be loved

 And accepted and valued too.

 I am the child that is misunderstood.

 I am different – but look just like you.