|picture from Google images|
I am the child that looks healthy and fine. I was born with ten fingers and toes. But something is different, somewhere in my mind, and what it is, nobody knows. I am the child that struggles in school, though they say that I'm perfectly smart. They tell me I'm lazy, can learn if I try, but I don't seem to know where to start.
I am the child that won't wear the clothes which hurt me or bother my feet. I dread sudden noises, can't handle most smells and tastes, there are only a few foods I'll eat. I am the child that can't catch the ball and runs with an awkward gait. I am the one chosen last on the team and I cringe as I stand there and wait.
I am the child with whom no one will play with, the one that gets bullied and teased I try to fit in and I want to be liked, but nothing I do seems to please. I am the child that tantrums and freaks over things that seem petty and trite. You'll never know how I panic inside, when I'm lost in my anger and fright.
I am the child that fidgets and squirms though I'm told to sit still and be good. Do you think that I choose to be out of control? Don't you know that I would if I could?
I am the child with the broken heart though I act like I don't really care. Perhaps there's a reason I'm made this way -- Some message I'm sent to share. For I am the child that needs to be loved and accepted and valued too. I am the child that is misunderstood. I am different - but look just like you.