Inhuman

by MarchingDeath

I hate feeling this way.

I hate feeling tired for no reason.

I hate not feeling hunger, and feeling disgusted,

as if about to vomit. I hate feeling lost, confused,

not knowing what to do, or what to say.

 

I hate being an idiot, dumb, slow, stupid,

gullible, complicated person.

If I can even call myself a person.

Why am I like this?

Is there anything that will ever fix me?

 

Make me feel as any other human would?

Perhaps not. There is no fixing someone like me.

Inhuman is what I truly am.

 

 

Notes:

Autism is implied in this poem. I also am not very good with poetry and have no idea how it works, but I wanted to put this out somewhere anyways.