My pain I cannot express,
Nor does it matter to try.
No one will ever see what I see,
Nor through my heart cry.
By expressions I am outcast.
By skin I am judged.
My soul, an alien, a freak,
To which I am misjudged.
Different is always punished;
No matter how it came to be.
If changed by others or made so,
Aliens deserve to die or flee.
Flee and hide away inside,
And change the form to seem,
Just as every other human being.
To live,… to survive this hellish dream.
But tell me is it really living if one must hide from everything?
K. Aldaya, 01/16/12
Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/36285/
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 