The room is full of faces, voices,
and all the naturalness I lack.
Hands cannot seem to find their place.
I am like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle
switched from its original box
or like a scratch on an old record
skipping intermittently.
I look at everything and everyone sidelong.
I never wanted to be here.
I don't understand the nuance that permeates the mundane.
I understand myself as limited,
lacking a dimension or two.
I embrace the walls,
exposing myself in them
without ever being seen.
I hid behind wonders,
believing myself to be something better,
but I am only hidden
like paint under paint,
revealing myself only
through the tectonism
of my own flaws.
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