Billions of Possibilities

The world is the judge, and I am on trial

Faking it through, praying for survival.

Have they caught me? Can they see?

Because I am not what they think I should be.

Big where I should be small,

Small where they demand more,

Too weak in places I should be strong,

Far behind in the 'getting even' score.

There’s no real place for me;

I’m just the wrong design.

A quarter trying to slide into

A slot meant for a dime.

I see the mold I need to fit

They tell me how to get to it

I soak it up, I take it in

Can’t be stuck in my own skin.

Rip, remove, contort, cut,

Shave, reshape, cover, bleed-

Until all that’s left is

Scars, a shadow, and the memory of “me”.

Still don’t fit,

Must be flawed

Innately, irrevocably,

Designed wrong.

Billions of combos possible:

Shape, size, color, temperament,

How many are acceptable?

Only one, and I just can’t.