On “Fitting In”

Ah, late summer–a time when teachers dust out classrooms and students pick up pencils, and swimming pools are abandoned by both. A time when middle schoolers worry about math, high schoolers worry about essays, and college students worry about everything.

(Or maybe that’s just me.)

And everyone worries about the social world– if the clothes they wear will have them laughed at or excluded, if they’ll have similar enough interests to their new classmates to befriend them, and if they’re in a new area, whether their accent will make people dislike them or if they’ll miss some unwritten social rule they’re unfamiliar with. Even if they avoid making any enemies, what if they can’t make any friends?

Social interaction is hard, guys.

People talk about little social things not mattering as much when you grow up, and that’s partially true. As an adult you have far more power to just walk away from unkind people, and a more developed self-image that their cruel words will have less impact on.

Still hurts, though.

In middle school, I went to a substitute teacher after some classmates had called me weird. His response? “I’m weird, too.” Which was very unhelpful to twelve-year-old me, but has been useful wisdom in the years since.

Everyone is unique, and so everyone is weird. Some are more weird than others, and some are better at pretending to be “normal,” whatever that means, but everyone is weird. Limited edition. Extraordinary. And yes, sometimes strange and bewildering.

Which means you’ll never find someone exactly like you, but there are loads of people  whose weirdness is compatible with your own. They’ll have similar interests or ways of talking or clothing styles or any number of things.

And even if none of those people seem to be part of your real space life, the internet is full of websites and discussions and blogs run by people with weirdness that probably matches yours at least a little bit.


Sand in my eyes

Send away

Thoughts of tomorrow;

How does a mind

Slow down?



Yeah, that

Doesn’t happen soon.


My ancestor

Bleaches my hair,

Gives cryptic words.

Her name means wisdom.

When I wake,

I’ll wonder

Why I never told her:

Issalaamu alaykum.

May peace be upon you.

Perhaps it already is.


I hide in a box

Of fantasies and

Children’s toys,

All gray.

The fear is scarlet.

Color is strange,

In dreams,

In memories.



Glare at the ceiling.




A wandering melody

Of yellow notes

Plays over me.

I run from monsters,

Faster than I’ve ever run,

Waiting for

Sandpaper breaths

That don’t come.

The monsters

Aren’t scary.

An endlessly shallow river

Is now deep and blue.

I catch a fractal glimpse–


Of nothing.

An alarm rings.

Colors fade to amber.

I clamber out of bed.