I try so hard to
be with the leader of the pack.
I push and strain to be in the group
That is behind the pack.
The feeling of being one of them urges me on.
All my problems of being different would go away.
I’d be one of them. I’d be like them.
We would laugh together and party together.
There would be no more tauntings and certainly
Not any more whispering behind my back.
The feeling of oneness would block out the past.
“You’re not different,” I say to myself.
“I’m like everyone else,” I say to myself.
The gap widens. Fatigue slows me down.
Stopping to rest, I look ahead at the group in the distance.
I realize I am alone. Alone but unique.
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