Square Peg (Poetry)

I was born in mid-summer — the last week in June
in the year of the rabbit at almost full moon
the evening was sultry and threatening rain
when blind fate forged my link on life’s long rusty chain.

All my days had a gloom to them right from the start
which dulled my blue eyes and near-swallowed my heart
so that even in summer a chill in the air
caused an uneasy shiver and growing despair.

I seemed cursed — like in stories — a changeling’s sad face
too different and awkward — I felt out of place
and never quite welcome — for always the sense
of a certain cool distance suggested pretence.

I just couldn’t fit in, though I tried every way
I could think of, yet Nature would always betray
my finest intentions to blend with the crowd
but they found me uncommon — a trait not allowed.

Many years spent alone means I’ve had time for thought —
to weigh up such gifts being different has brought.
That so-ordinary life I once wanted for me
would have closed off my mind and lacked all poetry.

I was not like the others — they knew from the start
the strangeness within me would keep me apart
for nothing could stop me from being myself
while the book that defines me sits square on the shelf.