She didn't belong to the world she was brought into.
She was certain
she didn't belong to the constant family discussions
and she knew from a very young age
with anxious hands and tearful eyes
she couldn't ever settle for the same day happening
over and over again.
She didn't belong to math classes,
to memorizing numbers and calculating results,
to a system that measures who scores the highest
because her abilities were never about the answers.
She'd rather be the one asking the questions.
She didn't belong to a world that sees her as less worthy
less capable and less deserving
because she is a she.
She was not meant to grow up to be seen as
a piece of meat
disguised as an innocent little princess
over the years.
She didn't belong to the kiss-a-stranger kind of party,
to the loud, alcohol-induced laughter
and the way everyone gets so intimate really quickly.
To her, intimacy was meant to be more
than the napkin you use and immediately
throw away.
She didn't belong.
She didn't belong to their embrace, to their vacations and
their way of facing love and life.
She didn't care enough
about everything they held dear.
For years,
she thought she didn't belong
until she met others
who felt exactly the same as her.
She did belong.
And on her way to belonging
came the understandingÂ
that she had to let go of everything
and everyone
who had been holding her back.
She had to release baggage that wasn't hers,
dismiss preoccupations, opinions and expectations.
The pleasantries and the politeness.
On her way to belonging,
she discovered everyone belongs
to different kinds of landscapes,
everyone is made of divergent realities.
Because after all, we are all
entire worlds
trapped inside a colored skin
and black and white bones
constantly waiting and hoping to
connect.
On her way to belonging
she uncovered who she was,
of what she was after,
and started to live her life on her own terms.
Her hands were now holding paper and pen.
Now she doesn't belong to the world.
The world belongs to her.