As a young boy, I felt a certain sense of nudity,
A sense of self that could be construed, a sort of lunacy.
An expectant state of being judged rather brutally,
A sense of shame that left me void of any dignity.
I felt this way around the people I called my community,
And felt that whenever I appeared, they would leap on the opportunity,
To target my presence and shame my flaws with eager ferocity.
Now, no longer a boy, I still feel this way with much regularity,
Wondering what could have been, if not for this disparity.
And from this state I desire to wage a zealous mutiny,
Yearning to be free from this state of prolonged captivity.
Will I ever break free from the chains of past hostility?
Will I ever overcome the damage of their spite, their scrutiny?