Lost

I know what it feels like To be wrong. To yearn for something that Never existed. To feel pain because of it, And pain again Because people don’t see Me. Some don’t understand, And they don’t try to. They would call “faggot” and “tranny” Down the street at my passing. They are afraid of the differences. Many don’t understand, or don’t know. And some try to know, But they can’t. Invariably they fail. It hurts more than the insults ever could. It’s usually the small things. A “have a good day, sir” at a checkout counter, Or a “hey, man!” passed around between classes. A glance in a mirror. A name scrawled at the top of an assignment. These things remind me I am lost. And the world does not want to find me.