Being Different

Every day and night all I can hear are strangers cursing, cracking jokes, and laughing at my distorted image. Words become weaponry, life never seems to be rid of discrimation and abuse that is polluting the very air I breathe. Children stare, some even cry from the sudden fear that grows when they see my distorted face. Misunderstanding is thriving, like a disease with no known cure. Children I can endure, they do not get under my skin like a leech sucking life out of me. Adults differ, they know the buttons to press to cause hurt and unseen agony; they seem to enjoy it. I continue to smile, trying to mask my true feelings but within my mind a voice speaks, always negative, always flashing terrible memories of my childhood assaults. I am different, I know, but life seems to view me in a different light. Memories I bare create scars within my lonely soul, it desperately tries to fit in a world of fragmented images of what is considered beauty. Normality does not come to those who view the world in a light of fixed images for life itself is always different, always changing, then yet I am viewed as an alien, unwanted, feared, almost hated. Still, I keep on living, regardless of how many times sticks and stones are thrown onto my path. Being different? Who actually cares? Seems like everyone but life itself evolves and so shall I.