Being Odd

“You’re really odd, did you know that?”

Had she said it with a smile on her face, I wouldn’t have minded,
And she did, so I didn’t.

Yes all my life I have had to contend with the grim reality of my odd-ness.

At 3 I was living, in a house with my gran,
Inquisitive nature, meant I could stand,
on the sill of my window, I showed no fear,
“GET DOWN FROM THERE” she said with a tear.

Six years old, in the playground,
Some little shit makes fun of my frown,
I took off my belt and whipped away,
To the headmaster’s office I was sent to stay.

Just turned nine, singing lesson,
Made a face at teacher’s pet-son,
She shouted and screamed for me to leave,
I returned to the toilets and cried on my sleeve.

Bullying started when I was 12,
So at him I screeched like a banshee from hell,
My retort was greeted with laughter and jeers,
Being made fun of, at school by my peers.

Grabbed by puberty, I was barely 15,
Class cutie called me, she was so mean,
Turning away, my hands cradled my head,
“HA! Look at his face, he’s gone all red!”

Now I’m 18, I have no need to fear,
For I face the world, with you my dear,
And though people laugh, and think I am strange,
My love for you does take centre-stage.

© 2005 Richard James Beecham

Richard welcomes your comments!