“Why is it so different?” —

I have faced this in many ways. This is the reason I feel defeated though I have hope. I burn with the punch, slap and stones of it from everyday. I am crucified by it and I have felt the nails of it dig in and I wonder at the wounds of it. I am astray from what is publicly acceptable and palatable. I am dead to the world around me. So dead that I cannot write much anymore either. The people around me succeeded in making me know I am different and that I have to be ashamed for it. I love differently, like a deviant, not criminally deviant, but deviant as so far that people pinch, prod and throw it away like a dissected frog. My sorries are not acceptable because my caste is that like an untouchable. I might live in filth or riches but like a monstrous statue or a circulated fable I am lived by vicariously and not really understood. I am a term in the dictionary that you leaf over and that you don’t understand but find some perverse solace that it was in the dictionary. I am not self-aggrandizing myself n any way. How can the untouchable self-aggrandize? My language, my culture, my trade may be part and parcel of the world but also away from it — in  a safe haven of nowhere near them. I have not Othered anyone much but most of my life I was on the other end and it hurts as much as it did then. Any untouchable knows this pain…

Speak yer mind

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