My emotions do not work for you,
My ‘type’ is not seen in films,
Or lauded by proud relatives.
I’m the dog-eared piece of a jigsaw puzzle;
Incapable of slotting-in beside another.
Your risqué quips make me sick,
A brush in the corridor makes me flinch,
The fibre of their collective being collides,
Scratches and irritates mine.
I am not a fairytale –
There will be no family portrait for me –
I smirk and frown to hide my doubt
And hope the spotlight never falls on me.