David Hurtado         Wordsmith

You're like a puzzle piece that just won't snap in.

Always in hand but never in the right spot.

Even when you're in place, you're out of place.

Like a tumbleweed drifting across frozen tundra.

 

You see everything about the world differently.

So it sees everything about you differently.

You never knew why, thought it stared right at you.

Then, at last, you saw what your eyes could not.

 

It was such a quiet thing to discover.

For all the whispers circling curiously around you.

But who they expected you to be was never who you are.

You have always been much, much more.

 

You’ve read the room enough; let it learn to read you.

Masking mimics only a fraction of your light.

Normal is armor so tight your spirit strains against it.

Your difference is more precious than you know.

 

Lose your fluency in pretending.

Don’t fade into the wallpaper.

Stop sanding down your corners.

Your rhythm is beautiful in its truth.