As a child, I found myself treated differently, seemingly without cause.
I acknowledge that I bore a certain distinctiveness - my hair was short and I had unique interests.
But, when you peeled away the surface, I was fundamentally the same as all the others.

I was just a kid, navigating the maze of youth.
Yet, when I entered a room, the whispers and giggles would commence.
Or conversations, once lively, would suddenly fall to hushed tones.

There was an unspoken rule that I, for some unexplained reason, was not part of their world.

Tag games, a staple of childhood, were off-limits for me.
They avoided me as if a mere touch would send them reeling.

I was never wanted during group projects, and when I was assigned a group instead, the projects were formed with me on the sidelines, an invisible presence.

Lunchtime was solitary, my sandwich a silent companion.
Many thought my food was odd or unappealing, simply because I was the one eating it.

I was never allowed to be on their level, never allowed to just be a normal child.
I was forever pushed away like I was lesser than them.
Simply for existing, simply for being me.

I couldn't escape the feeling of being an alien, as if I'd landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They viewed me through a lens of peculiarity simply for existing.

I yearned for acceptance, to be loved for who I was.
To not be the "odd one out" in a world where I believed I belonged.
But day by day, their perception remained steadfast, and their exclusion was an ever-present ache.

My entire childhood was a relentless search for solace, trapped in a never-ending cycle of isolation.
While they grew up unscathed, untouched by consequences.
They led ordinary lives, free from the turmoil they inflicted upon me for their own amusement.

No apologies, just silence.
Every memory forgotten. My pain went unnoticed by all, not once being agnoledged.
Not only did I have to experience their torment, I was also subjected to endure the pain of my feelings never being validated.

As we aged, they treated me like a stranger, though their eyes betrayed their hidden memories.

I know they haven't forgotten, or maybe they have.
Maybe they see no wrong in what they did, so blissfully unaware of the pain in their actions.
Either way, those around us remain blissfully unaware.

Yet, even if they were to discover, I would be labeled the 'sensitive one,' the one at fault.
The one that can't take a joke.
The one that 'takes things too seriously.'

They flourished in their lives, basking in the warmth of normal childhoods, while I still feel like an alien.
Free from the torment, yet still accompanied by the damage they caused.

Compelled to accept and forced to forget.
Now, I must bear the undeserved hurt and pain, a burden put upon me for a reason I still do not know.

A burden put upon me simply for existing.

© AshMF